


A Matter of Discipline

by WritestuffLee



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Angst, BDSM, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-01
Updated: 2006-12-01
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:00:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritestuffLee/pseuds/WritestuffLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an AR, the Jedi are ready to bring down Palpatine a few years after Anakin has been found on Tatooine. But who might get hurt in the attempt? Well, Obi-Wan for one. This is how he learns to pick up the pieces and see that Qui-Gon gets the punishment he deserves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Discipline

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Question of Means](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/21765) by Gloriana. 



> Crack o’ the whip to Taskmistress Gloriana, who started it, allowed me to play, and provided invaluable ideas and criticism. All errors are mine own.

There was indeed a standard package for the Castigatum. In fact, there were several, depending on the nature of the crime meant to be punished. And guidelines, full of good, time-tested advice designed to safeguard the health of the penitent and the sanity of both the penitent and his penance-master. Kenobi seemed stunned by this fact, but Qui-Gon couldn’t blame him.

“This is the one you’ll want,” he had said, handing the boy a long, shallow box with a list printed on top. Kenobi’s eyes widened as he read it:

  * One (1) set standard arm & leg shackles, w/detachable chains (2 meters)
  * Four (4) lengths braided rope (sisal, .5 meters ea.)
  * One (1) braided thumper (sisal)
  * One (1) cat, beaded (leather, w/steel beads)
  * One (1) multistrand flogger (leather)
  * One (1) multistrand flogger (monofilament)
  * One (1) cane (monofilament)
  * One (1) ball gag (duraplas)
  * One (1) dildo (silicone, ex. lg.)



Kenobi’s face flushed from neck to hairline.  “I don’t want this,” he said, thrusting it back into Qui-Gon’s hands.

“You needn’t use all of it—or any of it,” he replied, holding it out to the young man again, “but you may find at some point that you want some piece of it. Better to have it and not use it than want it and not have it in the heat of the moment.”

“You misunderstand,” the young man said, struggling to recover his dignity. “These are, these are toys. What you did to me was not a game. It was not, in any way, _fun_ , or—” He stopped abruptly.  Qui-Gon suspected he had been about to say _arousing_. But it had been, despite himself, and Qui-Gon had known that. He thought it likely that Kenobi hated him as much for that as anything else he’d done. “—enjoyable,” the boy said finally. “I don’t intend your punishment to be, either.”

“Even more reason to have a supply of useful tools,” Qui-Gon countered. “And make no mistake: these are tools, not toys. The shackles, for instance, are durasteel, not leather, and not comfortable—or easily gotten out of, as the play versions usually are. And the cat, if not used carefully, can maim quite severely. The rest, it’s true, are familiar in the vinculum, but you may still find them useful for punishment.”

“The vinculum,” Kenobi repeated flatly, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Is that some other Jedi penance?”

“No. It means a bond or a tie. The slang usage refers to people who like bondage and power play and/or pain in their sexual lives.”

“Are you one of those? Is that why you chose this punishment?”

Qui-Gon smiled. “Ask me tomorrow.”

Kenobi, lips set in a thin line, looked up at him and crossed his arms. “Very well, then, Master Jinn. I’ll leave them in your keeping. Bring them with you tomorrow.”

He turned on his heel and left, evidently as eager to be out of Qui-Gon’s presence as he was anxious while in it.

Qui-Gon watched him go with both amusement at the lad’s remaining naiveté, and sadness at what he’d done to strip away so much of it—and how much less the lad would have at the end of this mutual sentence.

He took the box to his quarters, where he spent the remainder of the day tying up the last of the loose ends he could not leave dangling for the next two months, finishing status reports, and handing over the reins of several projects to others. By lastmeal, he was unencumbered and at loose ends himself. As he was deciding what to do about food, his door chimed. It opened to reveal Xan.

His former padawan looked the worse for wear yet, still cradling the stump of his arm unconsciously, his eye sockets shadowed with pain and sleeplessness.

“Xan, sit down, lad, before you fall down,” he said, steering the younger man to a plain but soft chair. “I’ll make tea. Have you eaten?”

“No, Master. I was just about to ask you the same thing. I thought you might like to come with me to the refectory.”

“I would, but I’m confined to quarters for now. I was going to call for something. Join me in my last meal as a free man?” It was said with a sardonic smile, but something in his heart sank, nonetheless, at the look on Xan’s face.

He sat down across from his former padawan, leaned forward and touched his knee. “It won’t be so bad, Xan. He’s a principled young man, I think. I don’t believe he’ll mete out more than I deserve.”

“He’s furious with you, Qui-Gon, and who knows what that will make him do? If you can’t see that, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

“Why shouldn’t he be furious?” Qui-Gon returned, getting up again to make tea. “I used him, stripped him of his innocence and his dignity, hurt him physically, humiliated him publicly.” He stopped for a moment, teapot in hand. “Of course he wants satisfaction from me. I’ve had enough experience with those feelings myself to recognize them in him. He’s a good man, Xan. Surely you can sense that yourself, working with him.”

“But he’s no Jedi.”

“No, and more’s the pity. He’s a bright spark in the Force, nonetheless. Now, tell me what the healers have to say about replacing your hand and then we’ll call for some food.”

* * *

Kenobi arrived at the appointed time the following day, and seemed shocked at his first sight of Qui-Gon. True, his hair had been cut to a brush with a short tail in the back just above the nape of his neck, and he was dressed in nothing but a long, shapeless, grey robe. The short cut made the iron grey in his hair more evident. Hands tucked in the loose sleeves, he knelt in the hallway beside Depa with his head bowed.

They were shown to their new quarters by the temple seneschal, who promised Kenobi that his things would be moved over later that afternoon. Qui-Gon followed along several steps behind with his head still bowed, and went to his knees again at Depa’s feet while they sorted out the arrangements for the move as the others stood in the hall. When that was done, Kenobi turned to her.

“I’ve read the guidelines,” he said, visibly steeling himself. _Too late to back out now, my lad,_ Qui-Gon thought. He wondered if Kenobi had finally realized that he would be alone with his former assailant for the next two months.

“Then you understand what taking responsibility for Penitent Jinn means, and what you, as his Penance Master, are and are not allowed by right to do to him?” Depa asked Kenobi.

“Yes. Anything short of or equal to any lasting bodily harm he caused me.”

“And no more.”

“Yes, of course,” Kenobi responded impatiently.

Qui-Gon almost smiled, and ducked his head a little more to hide it. What did they take him for?

“Let’s go inside then. I’ll show you your temporary quarters.” She touched the palm plate and ushered Obi-Wan inside. Qui-Gon followed at a gesture from Depa and went to his knees again just beyond the door. “I say ‘temporary’ because these rooms have some special features your regular ones won’t. Xan mentioned that you’ll be joining our pilot corps?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed, still a little bemused, apparently, by the speed with which his life had turned upside down and rearranged itself.

“We’ll give you your choice of quarters in our civilian wing then, if you like, but for now you’ll be here. Penitent Jinn has been fitted with a tracking anklet,” she bent to pull away the hem of the rough penitent’s robe, revealing Qui-Gon’s bare foot and hairy ankle circled by a blinking bracelet. “This turns on a forcefield in any of the exits, should he try to leave without your authorization.” She tipped his head up with two fingers, exposing his throat. His eyes met Kenobi’s briefly and it was the boy who looked away.  “He’s also been fitted with a Force-suppressing collar, which he’ll wear for the duration of the Castigatum. Here’s the controller for both.” She handed Kenobi a small remote with two sets of buttons, which she identified for him.

“For your own sense of safety, you may restrain Penitent Jinn in any way that does not cause him lasting harm. There are eyebolts at various levels throughout the rooms for this purpose, and I believe you picked up a set of shackles yesterday?”

Kenobi blinked and nodded. “Jinn’s got them,” he said hoarsely.

“Penitent Jinn?”

“My master, I gave them over to the temple guards,” Qui-Gon replied in a quiet but by no means subdued voice. “I believe they’ve left them on the bed in my penance master’s room.”

Depa nodded. “You, of course, are free to come and go as you like,” she continued. “Just take the controller with you. Do you have any questions?”

Kenobi shook his head. “No. Thank you.”

“Obi-Wan,” Depa said gently, “my door is open to you at any hour. I want you to know that before I transfer custody of Penitent Jinn to you. This will not be an easy thing for either of you.” She shot Qui-Gon a look that clearly said, _even if  you behave._

Kenobi pressed his lips together and nodded.

“Then if you will sign this, and give us your print, I will leave you to it.”

Qui-Gon observed him with a calm curiosity, as though watching an initiate in the middle of a blind test. Without being able to sense the Force, it was hard to gauge Kenobi’s emotions, but he remembered his own well enough. Kenobi was perhaps only ten years older than he had been after that first time, though far, far more innocent. Even so, he was already making a better showing than Qui-Gon had. But only time would tell how he—how either of them—would come through this in the end.

When the bureaucratic niceties had been disposed of and they were alone, Kenobi wasted no time going for the box he’d left with Qui-Gon yesterday. He came back out of the bedroom holding the shackles, pulled Qui-Gon’s hands behind his back and snapped them tight around his wrists and ankles, then clipped the connecting chains to the eyebolt in the floor with an alacrity that could only indicate fear.

He stepped back warily then and surveyed his prisoner.

“It might be bet—” Qui-Gon began.

“Shut up, Jinn. You’ll do as I tell you, or I’ll teach you to. You’ll speak when spoken to,” Kenobi snapped, “and only then. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, _Master_.”

“Yes, Master,” Qui-Gon repeated, and fell silent. _Well done_ , he thought. _Firmly quashed and rules set in the first moments._

He was left manacled in the middle of the room while Kenobi explored his new quarters at leisure. Like most Jedi habitations, they were spare and simple, but comfortable. There were two bedrooms, a small one that could be locked from the outside, a larger one only from the inside; a fresher; a common room; and a small galley kitchen, all furnished and stocked. The smaller bedroom held a hard bunk with eyebolts at each end and above it; the larger bedroom held a comfortable bed that would sleep two easily. It was the only room that lacked eyebolts. The floors throughout were of a dark, cushiony material like a workout mat, both water- and stainproof. Drains were set throughout each room near the eyebolts as well, as though the rooms were sluiced down regularly. Qui-Gon watched him mull that observation over for a while, adding it to the metal-framed furniture and the eyebolts, and coming out the other end somewhat disturbed. When he’d opened all the cupboards and finished his explorations, Kenobi stopped in front of him again.

“What’s to keep you from doing me further harm while we’re here?”

“If I harmed you during my sentence, do you imagine I would be allowed to take up my place with the Jedi again?” Qui-Gon replied. “If I were that kind of rogue, you would have been offered the Annulum.”

Kenobi frowned. “ _Master_ ,” he insisted. “You will address me as Master, Jinn.”

_Or what?_ he was tempted to say, but it was too early to push the boy. “Yes, Master.”

“Is that all that’s stopping you? Your precious career?” Kenobi prodded.

“I did what I did to you for a specific reason. I have no reason to harm you now. Master.”

“No fear for your own safety? Your own health?”

“Should I have? I am at your mercy—Master.” His defiance was making Kenobi grind his teeth. The boy had much to learn.

Or perhaps not. An open flick knife appeared in his hand. Kenobi stepped forward and seized the collar of Qui-Gon’s  robe and slashed downward, shredding the garment and nicking him in several small, shallow cuts, leaving him kneeling naked in his chains, anklet, and suppression collar in the middle of the common room, blood trickling over his skin.

“Very decorative,” Kenobi said, and smiled evilly. Then he walked away.

Qui-Gon was still kneeling there later when the boxes of Kenobi’s possessions began to arrive. He knelt quietly as the porters—all temple employees—went in and out, none of them taking any notice of Qui-Gon, and he taking none of them. Kenobi watched with narrowed eyes, obviously displeased that his attempt at humiliation had been unsuccessful.

Xan’s appearance later in the afternoon was something different altogether. As promised, he came to collect Obi-Wan to work on the last few files Palpatine had left behind.

“Obi-Wan, are you—” he began, then caught sight of Qui-Gon. The trickles of blood had dried and the nicks themselves scabbed over, but he knew he looked, well, like a prisoner kneeling naked and bloodied in chains. Xan started toward him, but Qui-Gon shook his head slightly, so slightly that Kenobi missed it, and Xan wrenched his attention back to the younger man. It was a pause of an almost imperceptible moment. “—ready to work on those files? As I said, I’ve had some ideas.”

“I don’t know that I can be of much help, but I’m willing to try.” Pocketing the controller for Qui-Gon’s collar and anklet, Kenobi followed Xan out with a sly glance between shackled master and dismayed knight.

Qui-Gon used the time to meditate, quelling both his hunger and his need to relieve himself, and he was sitting on the floor when Kenobi returned, alone, near lastmeal. The boy came into the room like a stormfront, clearly furious about something. Qui-Gon braced himself, thinking this might be the true beginning of his punishment, but Kenobi merely knelt behind him and opened his shackles.

“Go piss and wash up,” he said. “I’ve got some food coming.”

When he came out of the fresher again, Kenobi threw another of the penitent’s robes at him. “Since you’re obviously not as embarrassed as I was to be naked in public, you might as well cover yourself up. There’s food on the counter. You can eat anywhere you like but at the table with me. I won’t break bread with you, Jinn.”

He bowed silently, filled his plate, and lowered himself onto his rump on the floor, not far from where he’d been shackled. The chains were still there, piled on the floor, and he fully expected to sleep in them that night. They ate in silence for a while, until Kenobi pushed his plate away. He’d touched little on it.

“You know,” he began quietly, “your—padawan? Is that the word?” He looked over at Qui-Gon, who nodded. “Your padawan, Xanatos, is the only person I’ve met yet in this place who’s apologized to me. Is that something you planned to do at some time?”

“If I were to do that now, would it mean anything to you? Master.”

He thought Kenobi might strike him then. The boy rose from his chair and stood trembling in rage over Qui-Gon, who met his furious gaze with a mild one of his own. “You bastard!” Kenobi choked.  “Get up!” He reached for the collar around Qui-Gon’s neck to drag him up by it but snatched his hand away again with a cry the instant his fingers closed on it. He staggered away, clutching his head, and in that moment Qui-Gon was on his feet, reaching for him and steadying him.

“Easy,” Qui-Gon murmured. “It’s all right. It won’t hurt you. It’s just unpleasant.”

Kenobi struggled out of his grip and sank woozily into a chair, rubbing his temples. “I don’t— what just happened?” he demanded suspiciously, as though it were Qui-Gon’s fault.

“You put yourself within the suppression collar’s field. It cut you off from the Force too.”

“‘Too’? What do you mean, ‘too’? I’m no Jedi.”

“Only because we didn’t find you and train you. You’re a Force-sensitive as much as anyone in this temple. What do you think makes you such a good pilot? Or gives you those fighting reflexes you’ve got? It’s not just training. It’s most likely one of the reasons Palpatine hired you.”

“What are you talking about? How would he—how do you know?” Kenobi was torn between curiosity and scorn.

“Your Force signature.”

“My what?”

“Your Force signature,” Qui-Gon repeated. “Because the Force is a part of all of us, of everything in the universe, people who are sensitive to it like the Jedi—or the Sith, which is what Palpatine was—can sense the strength and the ‘flavor,’ if you will, of another’s presence. The stronger their sensitivity to the Force, the more noticeable the signature. I’m sure that’s what drew Palpatine to pick you out of the crowd of pages to be his clerk.”

“The ‘flavor’ of my Force signature.” The boy looked sickened.

“Yes.”

“ _Master_ , dammit,” Kenobi snapped. “On your knees, Jinn. I’m not craning my neck to look up at you.”

“Yes, Master.” It was all Qui-Gon could do not to give the lad a nod of approval for his attempt to  maintain the upper hand, belated as it was. He went to his knees, folding his hands in his lap. That brought him almost to eye level with Kenobi. They were both silent for a moment, Kenobi sizing him up, trying to read him beneath the calm exterior he presented. What he could sense behind Qui-Gon’s own shields, weakened as they were by the collar, was anyone’s guess.

A look of distaste crossed his face and he got up, brushing by Qui-Gon. “I’m not like you.”

“More than you think,” Qui-Gon murmured behind his back. “Master.”

* * *

When Yoda showed up the next morning, Qui-Gon knew the brief reprieve before his real punishment began was over.

Kenobi had stalked off to his room the night before, leaving Qui-Gon unshackled in the common room. Dutifully, and to give himself something to do, he’d cleaned up the remains of dinner and retired to his own room, eschewing the bed for the floor. This turned out to be a wise choice, as Kenobi had come into his room later that night and found him there. He’d said nothing, merely turned on his heel and locked the door behind him.

Later in the night, he’d been awakened by a terrified cry coming from Kenobi’s room. His first instinct was to see if the young man was all right, but he knew that was the worst thing he could do, even if the doors between them hadn’t been locked. The last thing Kenobi would want to see was the man who’d given him those nightmares looming over him in the flesh in the middle of the night. Qui-Gon curled up tighter on the floor in his penitent’s robe and stared regretfully into the darkness, murmuring the Act of Penance as he would do every night until Kenobi was ready to hear it from him.

The young man looked haggard and rumpled when he unlocked Qui-Gon’s door the next morning. Kenobi had slept late and Qui-Gon had used the time, again, to meditate, thinking it was going to be a long two months if Kenobi didn’t find him something to do soon.

“Your master’s here,” Kenobi said curtly then looked with interest at Qui-Gon’s expression as he rose.

He followed Kenobi into the common room and bowed silently to Yoda, who appraised him with a frown.

“Beat him yet, you have not,” Yoda observed, looking up at his former padawan looming enormously above him. He poked Qui-Gon in his belly with the end of his stick hard enough to push the breath out of him. “Too much stuffing yet in him there is.”  The little master set his mouth determinedly and proceeded to thwack Qui-Gon hard, repeatedly, on both bare shins with his gimmer stick until his flinches turned into a kind of dance. Dammit, he hadn’t been thumped like this since he was in his teens. The ghost of a smile curved Kenobi’s lips. “Insolent still he is,” Yoda continued. _Thwack! Thwack!_ The stick came down hard behind his knees, twanging his tendons. Qui-Gon folded, groaning like a reluctant eopi. Kenobi’s lips twitched in rising mirth. “Stubborn Qui-Gon was always, as a padawan even.” _Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!_ across his shoulders, leaving bruises and pushing him onto his face. Qui-Gon pressed his forehead to the floor, wincing. He heard Kenobi snort a brief laugh. “His size to intimidate he uses.” _Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!_ across Qui-Gon’s upturned bottom. His ears and face blossomed into flaming mortification, probably the same color as his arse by now, he thought. There was nobody quite like his master for bringing Qui-Gon down a peg or six. Kenobi was laughing outright.  “Knows he does size matters not,” the little troll finished with several especially sharp smacks to the bottoms of his bare feet. That was really going to hurt later. Not to mention making him limp in an undignified manner.

“Chose you did the Castigatum, both of you. Being punished your job is, Qui-Gon Jinn. Punishing Qui-Gon your job now is, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Fragile he is not. See well you do it. Tools you have?”

“Yes, Master,” Kenobi replied, the amusement leaving his voice.

“Use them,” Yoda directed in the same no-nonsense voice that had made hundreds of padawans leap to obey. Kenobi would no doubt turn out to be just as susceptible. Qui-Gon had always suspected there was a good deal of Force suggestion in Yoda’s teaching technique.

“Yes, Master,” he replied in a tone that told Qui-Gon Yoda had definitely put some starch, if not steel, in the boy’s spine.

A sharp claw tapped Qui-Gon’s shorn scalp. “Like this leave him you should today. Beat him tonight again. Teach him you will his penis not a weapon is. Hmmmmph. Know it already he should, of all people.”

“Master,” Kenobi blurted, “may I ask you something? He said Palpatine was attracted to my Force signature. What did he mean? Was he lying?”

“Lie to you Qui-Gon Jinn will not. The whole truth tell you he will not, either,” Yoda snorted, punctuating this observation with another hard thwack to Qui-Gon’s very sore bottom. He grunted, wincing. “With me you will come, young one. Show you I will.”

 

Yoda took Kenobi for the day, leaving Qui-Gon forehead to the floor to contemplate his bruises and aches and the reasons for them, which he did, in detail. He knew his beating had been as much for Kenobi’s benefit as it was a reminder to Qui-Gon to take his punishment and take it seriously. And if Kenobi wasn’t yet up to dishing out what he deserved, then it was Qui-Gon’s job to teach him how.

This wasn’t the first time Qui-Gon had suffered through the Castigatum, but it was the first time he’d been in the hands of a non-Jedi and a novice. The last time it had been for a defiance of orders on a mission, and Mace Windu had been his penance master. He’d been sent to work in a disaster clean-up detail, doing back-breaking manual labor without the Force. There hadn’t been any beatings then, but there’d been a good deal of humiliation to teach him what it meant to serve and obey.

This Castigatum was entirely different. Part of the problem was that Kenobi was afraid of him and knew just as well as Qui-Gon did that any power he had over his prisoner was what Qui-Gon gave him, suppression collar or no. That had been part of the purpose of Yoda’s exhibition today: to make Kenobi realize he needed to take control—indeed that he could.

Qui-Gon sighed inwardly. He’d told Kenobi he’d chosen this option because it had seemed the most interesting. That had been a flippant answer to a serious question. In truth, he’d chosen this because he knew he deserved the punishment and because he thought it might give the boy some satisfaction. Now he was beginning to wonder if it might change them both irrevocably and only harm Kenobi more.

 

However Kenobi had spent the day, whether with Yoda or Xan or alone, he seemed a more determined if not quite an entirely changed man by the time he returned. “Get up, Jinn,” he growled, when he came back in early that evening. “You and I are going to have a little chat.”

Qui-Gon got to his feet slowly, stiff from both the position and the swellings from Master Yoda’s beatings. The soles of his feet were particularly tender and though he tried not to show it, it was painful to stand. Kenobi watched him with calculated interest.

“You were Master Yoda’s padawan?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” Qui-Gon replied.

“For how long?”

“Ten years, Master.”

“How often did he beat you?”

_Not often enough, apparently,_ Qui-Gon thought. “When I needed it, Master.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“No, Master,” Qui-Gon acknowledged, without elaborating further, and watched Kenobi’s face darken in anger. He spun on his heel and stalked into the bedroom, returning a moment later with the cane in his hand. “Off. Take it off. Strip. Now.”

Qui-Gon complied stiffly and in slow motion, not from any conscious wish to provoke but simply because his muscles were sore. When the robe was bunched around his shoulders and head, effectively restraining and blinding him, Kenobi let fly with the cane in a flurry of blows over the backs of his thighs, his already abused buttocks, and his lower back. Caught by surprise, he yelped and flinched and struggled to disentangle himself from the robe while maintaining some dignity, and failed miserably. Once it was off, however, the blows stopped. Qui-Gon stood with the robe in his hands, panting, the new blows stinging sharply and a new respect for Kenobi blossoming in him with the rising welts.

“On your knees, Jinn. I’ve had enough of your shite.” Kenobi barked. Qui-Gon sank onto them again, wincing, trying to swallow his anger, wondering what fear was sparking it. “How often did your master beat you?”

“Not at all until I was a teenager, Master,” he answered with downcast eyes. “Then occasionally until I grew out of the need for it. Once or twice since I’ve been knighted. Like today, Master.”

“ Once or twice since you’ve been knighted? Headstrong bastard, aren’t you, Jinn?”

“I suppose so, Master,” he agreed, swallowing heavily.

Kenobi paced around him in a tight circle, tapping the cane against his palm.

“You said something about the ‘vinculum’ the day of your sentencing. Do you remember?”

“Yes, Master.”

“I asked if you were part of that, and you said ‘ask me later.’ I’m asking you now. Have you done it? Do you like pain?”

Qui-Gon considered how to answer this. It seemed unlikely Kenobi would believe whatever he said, regardless of Yoda’s earlier assertions, but he didn’t want to give the lad any ideas just yet. “I don’t seek it, no, Master,” he said slowly, “but I don’t mind it, if it happens in the heat of passion. There’s sometimes a fine line—”

“I didn’t ask for a disquisition, Jinn. Just a ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ So you didn’t enjoy your beating this afternoon?”

That was easy enough. “No, Master.”

“What about being tied up? Is that your kink? Or is it being dominated you like?”

Kenobi had spent at least part of the day doing research, Qui-Gon guessed, as he’d seemed not to understand the terms before. He hesitated again, not wanting to reveal too much yet to someone as angry as Kenobi still was, though the truth was, his preferences were fairly ordinary. He liked enthusiasm, inventiveness, and passion where it belonged. He preferred men because he felt less likely to hurt them. Women seemed so small and fragile in his arms, though he knew that was really an illusion. In his early twenties he’d explored the vinculum occasionally, more for the experience than because he particularly enjoyed it. For a while, it had been a way to come to grips with some of the effects of his rape as a teenager. Being a submissive receiver had been frightening at first, and then, with the kind older man who’d taken him under his wing, strangely freeing; learning to dominate had been far less challenging but more enjoyable. And the bindings— well, to a Jedi they were more amusing than titillating. After a time he realized he preferred to come to lovemaking straightforwardly, as an equal, to give a partner what they wanted and get what he needed at the moment in return.

Kenobi hit him with the cane again, this time across his shoulders. “Answer me!”

“Neither, Master.”

“So you’re a submissive.”

“I—no. Either. Both. It depends on the partner, Master.”

Kenobi narrowed his eyes, as though he didn’t believe a word Qui-Gon was saying. “I can’t imagine you being a receiver. Have you done that?”

“If you mean being penetrated, yes. If you mean being submissive, not often, but I have, Master.”

He noted the confusion in Kenobi’s eyes. “May I speak, Master?” Kenobi nodded. “They’re not the same. Submissives are usually receivers, but not all receivers are submissive. Being a receiver just means you like to be penetrated. Being a submissive means you like being told what to do.” It was a gross oversimplification, but this was neither the time nor the place for more detailed explanations.

“So a dominant receiver—”

“A dominant receiver would tell his submissive how and when to fuck him.”

“So you _have_ messed about.”

“In the past, Master. A long time ago. In all the permutations.”

Kenobi resumed his circular pacing, cane tapping his leg lightly, and Qui-Gon waited tensely in the center of it, feeling himself in the eye of a storm, and particularly vulnerable in his nakedness. The boy’s head must be reeling if this was his first exposure to the vinculum. And starting out filled with rage and pain was not a good state of mind in which to begin, for either of them.

Finally, he stopped again in front of Qui-Gon, tapping the cane in his palm.

“I’ve done a bit of thinking this afternoon, after your master and I had a talk. Master Windu was very helpful as well. He tells me you’ve a particular dislike for sewing chores.” Qui-Gon gritted his teeth. Naturally Mace would get in his little dig. He’d been more outraged than usual at Qui-Gon’s conduct on this mission. “He’s having the laundry send over their hand-mending for you tomorrow. That should keep you busy.

“And I watched Master Yoda teach some of your initiates today. He’s given me a bit of a crash course on Force sensitivity. We discovered my midichlorian count is quite high. Higher than yours, actually, Master Jinn. In other circumstances, it’s not impossible I would have been someone’s padawan. Instead of your victim.”

_Where you might still have been anyone’s victim,_ Qui-Gon thought but didn’t say.

“As for your punishment, I think I’ve been going about this all wrong. You were right about one thing: it’s useful to have the appropriate tools. I picked up a few other things from stores today. Interesting what you can get in the Jedi commissary. Who’d have thought?” He dropped something into Qui-Gon’s lap and stood in front of him. “I’m told that’s called a cage,” Kenobi said. “You’re to wear it and nothing else until I tell you otherwise. The only time you’re allowed to take it off is when you wash. You can still piss with it on, but you won’t get hard. Or at least you won’t want to. It’s a bit snug. More so on someone your size. That seems an appropriate place for you to keep your cock. Put it on.”

Qui-Gon picked up the thing in his lap. It looked something like the protective grids encasing work lights, but smaller, and there was a leather strap and buckle at one end and a D-ring at the other. He slid the contraption on over his cock, finding it a tight fit even in his flaccid state. The tip of the head and foreskin poked out of the ring at the end that was just a tad too small and rubbed irritatingly. The strap and buckle on the opposite end went around his balls, the metal buckle digging into his scrotum. If he even started to get hard, this was going to be painful. It was also embarrassing to be buckled into what amounted to a chastity belt.

“Now order us up some food, Jinn. I’ll let you get the door.”

Qui-Gon almost wanted to congratulate Kenobi; he’d found something both inventive and humiliating to subject Qui-Gon to. He actually felt himself shrivel up in embarrassment when their food arrived. The porter tried not to look, but the metal apparatus over Qui-Gon’s genitals was not something easily ignored, unlike his earlier nudity; Qui-Gon knew the tale would be halfway round the temple by morning. And without access to the Force, his body’s reactions were harder than usual to control. Kenobi observed the flush of shame that spread across his face and scalp with evident satisfaction.

“Kneel here,” Kenobi told him, pointing to a spot on the floor by his chair at the table. “You’ll eat there from now on.” He put Qui-Gon’s plate on the floor and manacled his hands behind him. “Like the animal you are.”

For a moment, Qui-Gon balked. Surely this wasn’t necessary—

But that was the point, wasn’t it? He was meant to wonder if Kenobi’s humiliation had been equally unnecessary. The lad had more balls than Qui-Gon had given him credit for. He leaned down to the plate and took a mouthful of food.

Qui-Gon, finding it hard to eat and having lost much of his appetite, finished first. Kenobi, he noticed, didn’t eat much either, and looked in distaste at the food caught in Qui-Gon’s beard. At least his hair was short enough now to stay out of it. Kenobi unlocked the shackles. “Clean yourself up. You’re disgusting,” he muttered. He watched from the table as Qui-Gon did as he was told, then pushed back from the table and snapped his fingers, pointing to a spot on the floor between his knees. Qui-Gon obeyed with a sinking feeling as the lad unfastened his pants, pushed down the top of his small clothes, and took out his cock, slowly stroking it to hardness.

“A little dessert, Jinn?”

“No, thank you, Master,” he said quietly, eyes down. Kenobi pulled his head up by a handful of hair.

“You seemed very interested in my jizz a week ago, milking it out of me. I thought you might like a taste of it this time. And so help me, if you bite me, I’ll rip your cock off. Isn’t that what you said? I thought you’d do it too, or I would have. Would you? Have ripped it off if I’d bitten you?”

Qui-Gon didn’t answer. He didn’t know.

The slap was hard and left a stinging handprint on one cheek and tears in his eyes. “Answer me, you bastard!”

“I don’t know, Master,” he murmured.

“You won’t do it now. Understood? You’ll take what I give you and like it. Suck me. And make it last.”

“As you wish, Master.” He suppressed a shudder.

Kenobi leaned down into his face. “Are you afraid?”

“Yes, Master.” And he was. It was an unreasoning fear, almost a phobia of something he hadn’t done in years, something he’d never liked since he’d been forced to do it on that disastrous mission as a padawan. Every day, two or three times a day, two or three different men had fucked him from both ends, until Yoda and Dooku had found him. It was months before he’d stopped smelling semen in his sinuses, stopped tasting it. Since then, he’d never asked it of his lovers, though he’d taken it when offered and learned to give it despite the gag reflex he’d developed as a result. But it took some time to work himself up to it, even with a partner he liked and trusted. “I’m not sure I can—”

Kenobi leaned in closer, locking his hands behind him again in the shackles and prying his jaw open as he’d done to Kenobi himself.

“I couldn’t either,” Kenobi said harshly, his fingers like iron on Qui-Gon’s face, “and that didn’t stop you from shoving yourself up my arse, did it? So you can suck me, or I can just fuck your mouth. Either way, that’s enough _words_ from you. They didn’t do me any good either.”

_It’s just a cock,_ Qui-Gon thought, swallowing hard, steeling himself. He knew how to do this.  _No more than that. Don’t think of it as anything more._ He closed his mouth tentatively around the head of Kenobi’s penis.

He remembered the smell, the taste and closed his eyes, his stomach roiling a little. Kenobi flicked a fingernail against his cheek. “Watch me,” he said, and there must have been something in his eyes when he looked up that made Kenobi falter. They held each other’s gaze for a moment then Kenobi stood, grabbed a handful of his hair and began to fuck his mouth, the rhythm fast and brutal. He wasn’t a small man, though not as big as Qui-Gon, and he pushed his cock down Qui-Gon’s throat without regard for his discomfort or ability to breathe. Qui-Gon started to choke at once and tried to pull back, but Kenobi’s grip in his hair was unforgiving. His throat closed as he began to gag and Kenobi gave a little cry, shoving himself savagely into the tight, wet heat of Qui-Gon’s mouth and throat, squeezing his own balls, burying Qui-Gon’s nose repeatedly in that bright copper hair on his groin.

It seemed to take hours for Kenobi to bring himself off, but it was, in fact, remarkably quick, as though he wanted it over with too. Finally, he gave a shout and shuddered and Qui-Gon’s mouth filled with cum. The hand in his hair loosened at last and he fell back on his heels, coughing until his stomach rebelled and he vomited on the floor. Kenobi jumped back out of the splatter and Qui-Gon looked up, eyes streaming, still coughing.

Once again, Kenobi met his gaze, something between disgust and mortification in his eyes, then tucked himself back in, released Qui-Gon’s bonds, and turned away. “Clean it up,” was all he said. But Qui-Gon could see him shaking.

 

He sluiced down and washed the floor, cleaned the dishes, and then asked Kenobi if there was anything else. When his penance master, sitting in the common room poring over a datapadd, said no, Qui-Gon had folded his knees, which were still less tender than his arse, and settled in to meditate again. He felt Kenobi’s eyes on him throughout, but managed to ignore him and was quite deep in when the younger man rose and went to his own room, leaving Qui-Gon’s door unlocked for the night, but not his own.

Long after Qui-Gon had gone to bed as well, Kenobi woke him again with the terrified sounds of another nightmare. Qui-Gon said yet another contrite Act of Penance into the darkness.

* * *

In the morning, he woke with a sharp ache in his groin, wondering what it was until he realized his erection was caught in Kenobi’s infernal cage. It took longer than it should have to quell it without access to the Force. That was beginning to be more painful than he’d remembered, too. The initial dizziness had passed quickly enough when Depa had first turned it on, standing a safe distance away herself. But he could not get over the feeling of being suddenly blind and crippled after so many years of unconscious reliance on the Force. Worse yet was the utter isolation of being unable to sense anyone else around him. Qui-Gon could not remember a time when he had felt so alone, or so lonely.

The mending arrived early, along with the supplies to do it. Qui-Gon let the porter in again, still wearing nothing but the cage on his genitals, and there was a bit of staring which he quashed with a thunderous look in Kenobi’s absence. The porter slunk away, chastened.

Kenobi looked terrible when he padded out of his room: eyes red and ringed with shadows, his face beginning to look gaunt under the day’s growth of beard. By the time he rose, breakfast was on the table and Qui-Gon was already sitting on the floor with needle and thread and a tunic sporting a right angle tear at the elbow. Three finished pieces sat neatly folded on the low table beside him.

“They’ll send it back if it’s not done right,” Kenobi warned, sitting down at the table. He watched with reluctant interest as Qui-Gon’s fingers plied the needle. It looked absurdly small in his huge fingers.

“Yes, Master,” Qui-Gon acknowledged mildly and continued sewing.

Kenobi ate his breakfast in silence, leaving most of it but his tea on the table, and sat watching Qui-Gon work. “Was this an earlier punishment?” he asked.

“Yes, Master. Yoda used to make me do this to develop patience. I haven’t done it myself since I’ve had padawans. I find the skill comes back—though so does the memory of why I never liked the activity.”

“Is that what padawans do? Their master’s dirty work?”

“The dirty work we do ourselves,” Qui-Gon replied, meeting Kenobi’s gaze squarely. “Master.”

“So what were you doing taking a boy of that age into such a dangerous situation?” Kenobi shot back.

Qui-Gon felt the blood drain from his face and took a deep breath before answering evenly, “Because that’s what padawans do. You’ve been a refugee; you know childhood doesn’t guarantee a safe life. Anakin was a slave when I found him. And Jedi children are trained from a very young age to protect themselves and others in dangerous situations. And sometimes they fail.”

“Or their masters fail?”

“Yes.”

“Did you?”

Qui-Gon realized he was crumpling the cloth in his fists and smoothed it out, going back to his mending. “I don’t know.” Perhaps he had failed Anakin, as he’d nearly once failed Xan. Perhaps this was his punishment for that weakness as well.

Kenobi fell silent and when Qui-Gon looked up again, he found the boy regarding him with a frown. It seemed less like disapproval than puzzlement, though, as if Qui-Gon had failed to confirm some pre-conceived idea.

Realizing he’d been caught staring, Kenobi rose abruptly and went to the fresher to wash up, leaving the breakfast dishes to be cleared by Qui-Gon.

 

A few hours after the boy had gone with Xan for the day, Depa arrived. As Kenobi’s advisor, she too had access to their quarters and would have been coming by soon with a healer to check on him anyway. He wondered what had prompted her appearance today. Surely they didn’t think Kenobi had done him any real harm.

“No, more the reverse, actually,” she replied frankly to his inquiry. “He looks wretched and it’s only been a few days. What have you been saying to him, you old rogue?”

“Only answering what he asks. I’ve behaved. But I don’t think he realized what he’d gotten himself into, locked up with me for so much time. At this point, it’s more punishment for him than me. Though I have to say this bloody cage was a stroke of genius on his part. I wonder if Mace put him up to it?” Depa wisely said nothing. “And Yoda stopped by to give him a lesson in proper thumping techniques.”

Depa looked torn between sympathy and amusement. “Serves you right. And you don’t seem much the worse for wear beyond a few bruises. But I’m worried about Kenobi. What’s going on?”

“He’s not eating well, not sleeping. I hear him cry out at night—and by the Force that’s punishment enough, Depa, knowing I did that to him.”

“Then fix it, Qui-Gon. Make it right. That’s your only mission at the moment. It’s not the first time you’ve had to soothe hostile and angry parties. And if you can speed it along, so much the better.”

“The uproar in the Senate hasn’t died down, I take it?”

“Gotten worse, if anything. We could use you. And not a few people are wondering where you are.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “I understand.”

* * *

He made sure Kenobi found him naked and on his knees with his forehead to the floor by the simple expedient of staying that way for several hours. He’d finished the mending early in the afternoon and called the laundry to come take it away, but a new pile wouldn’t be arriving until the following morning. And there was food on the table in warmers when the door swished open.

Kenobi stopped just inside it, clearly surprised.

“What’s this?”

“May I speak, Master?” Qui-Gon asked in muffled tones, still face to the floor.

“Only to explain yourself.”

Qui-Gon came up from his prostration proffering the cane with both hands. One look made it obvious why Kenobi might want it. Qui-Gon had shaved, and the cage was gone.

Instead of taking the cane, Kenobi stood before him with his arms crossed, clearly furious. “I’m waiting,” he snapped.

“I shaved because I thought it might disgust you less when I ate—”

“And the cage?”

“I couldn’t stand it anymore. The straps were—”

Kenobi did snatch the cane from his hands then and Qui-Gon reflexively ducked his head in anticipation of the first blow. When it didn’t come, he looked up again to find Kenobi clutching the cane, trembling with rage.

“You couldn’t stand it,” he muttered hoarsely at last. “You couldn’t stand it. Like I couldn’t stand your cock up my rectum, perhaps? And what choice do you think I had about removing it?”

Qui-Gon said nothing, merely sat with his eyes downcast.

“Answer me!” Kenobi snarled.

“None, Master,” Qui-Gon replied in a genuinely contrite tone.

The first blow caught him on the shoulder, and he curled forward to take them across his back. Kenobi was furious enough to beat him bloody, he was certain, and better there than anywhere else. They fell in a flurry, hard and fast, all over his back and shoulders, leaving welts and horizontal stripes. He counted almost a dozen before something—sweat or blood—began to trickle across his skin, and fifteen more before Kenobi stopped, panting, and dropped the cane in front of him and marched away. Qui-Gon stayed down, his back on fire. The boy had been thorough.

He heard rummaging from somewhere in their quarters, and Kenobi returned shortly, chains clinking in his hands. He yanked Qui-Gon upright by his hair and snapped the manacles around his wrists. Panting with pain, Qui-Gon eyed the object Kenobi had left on the floor: a long metal bar with a cuff at either end, large enough to go around his ankles. Recognition made him shiver.

“Master, please—”

“I’m not done with you,” Kenobi hissed, yanking him to his feet and pushing him along into his room, chains clanking ominously. Perhaps he’d pushed the boy too far, too fast.

“On your back, Jinn,” Kenobi ordered when they reached it. Qui-Gon complied, lying back on the narrow bunk, gasping as his raw skin came in contact with the rough blanket. Kenobi locked the spreader bar in place between his ankles and clipped the manacles on his hands to it, then hoisted the bar in the air to meet the chain dangling from the eyebolt over his bed. That left Qui-Gon’s back uncomfortably unsupported and his shoulders burning, the mattress barely serving to keep him from swaying in his bonds.

Qui-Gon had not felt so exposed or so helpless since he was fifteen, not even three years ago in that prison. There, he’d been grabbed out of his bunk the first night—the new uninitiated prisoner—by many hands and other appendages, stripped, bent over, held down, fucked serially and sometimes simultaneously with penises and other reproductive organs and whatever else came to hand, enough times that he’d lost count and was left raw and bleeding for it. But there had never been the sense that he was helpless, because he still had access to the Force. He’d fought back enough to make his resistance seem real, injuring three other prisoners, then submitted because it was too early in the mission to break his cover. He’d had a choice.

But he hadn’t the first time, and he had none now. Kenobi would do whatever he wanted with him. He was truly at the boy’s mercy.

The suppression collar was like a burning weight on his neck and he wanted more than anything to be rid of it. With the Force, he could get out of these chains and shackles, get out of this room—

As Kenobi had not been able to get out of his bonds or out from under Qui-Gon’s weight, or off the spear of his cock. Qui-Gon closed his eyes, sagging in his chains. He deserved this. Whatever was coming, whatever he had pushed Kenobi to, he deserved it for using another as though he were nothing but a tool. He would do it again, in the same circumstances, but such actions should never be without consequences. He would pay them now.

He heard footsteps: Kenobi leaving the room, Kenobi coming back. He heard a whistling swish and lines of pain erupted between his legs: over his balls, his cock, his perineum, his belly, too sharp to be leather. The monofilament flogger. He jerked away with a cry of pain and surprise and discovered he had nowhere to go.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” Kenobi hissed. “About making you feel what I felt. I couldn’t shit for days without thinking of what you did to me, even with the bacta that was sprayed up my ass like your jizz. I bled every time I took a shit, for three days, almost like you’re bleeding now. But almost isn’t enough. So should I flog you first and then shove this dildo up your ass? Or shove this in dry first and then flog you?” Qui-Gon said nothing, just looked away, resigned. Kenobi hit him again and Qui-Gon jerked in his bonds. “Answer me!”

“Whatever you wish, my Master,” Qui-Gon murmured, the fight gone out of him, as he’d seen it go out of Kenobi.

He half-expected the dildo up his ass, or Kenobi’s own cock, but what he felt instead was the flogger, filaments falling across the tender skin of his groin, pulling first grunts then yelps of pain out of him, making him jerk and writhe in his chains and quickly leaving his cock and balls as raw as his back.

But only a few blows striped him before Kenobi stopped. He heard a sniffle, lifted his head to see Kenobi’s eyes streaming and the boy wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“You fucker,” he gasped. “I won’t do it. I won’t lower myself to your level.” He dropped the flogger and unlocked Qui-Gon’s chains and manacles, then fled the room.

Shivering, Qui-Gon rolled onto his side. His hand came away bloody when he touched himself and his groin throbbed as hard as his back. He shivered again, suddenly cold, realized he was getting shocky, and hung his head over the side of the bunk. With the suppression collar on, there was no controlling the pain, no releasing it to the Force, and he had not enough concentration through the pain to control his body’s reactions.

What seemed like moments later, he heard voices in the next room and opened his eyes to a healer kneeling at his side and Depa watching from near the door with a slight frown on her face. He closed his eyes again, relieved, until he heard the words “bacta tank.”

“No,” he said hoarsely. “Just spray it.”

“Your back will probably scar, then,” the healer insisted. “In the tank—”

“I said no,” he repeated. “Just the spray.”

“There’s still a chance of infection. Some of these are deep.”

“I’ll risk it,” he said. “No painkillers.”

“You’re mad,” Depa murmured.

“Or he’s aiming for martyrdom,” the healer huffed, going about his work. “I’ll be back in four hours to check on you.”

“Kenobi called you?” Qui-Gon murmured, huddling beneath a fresh blanket as the healer packed up his case.

“Yes,” Depa replied. “The clinic alerted me.”

“He didn’t waste any time, either,” the healer concurred. “And he’s a bit shocky himself. I’m not sure either of you should be left alone.”

“I’ll stay with them,” Depa replied, pulling a chair up next to Qui-Gon’s bed.

“Make sure the boy is all right,” Qui-Gon said.

“He’s fine. Lying down on the lounge with some hot tea. I’ll make him eat in a bit. Stop giving orders, Penitent Jinn, and go to sleep.”

 

It took some time, but he did sleep, eventually, waking only briefly when the healer reappeared, and drifting back into a restless, feverish slumber. He woke again late the following morning, feeling groggy, stiff, and a little ill, surprised to see Kenobi sitting where Depa had been.

“How do you feel?” the boy asked. His expression, meant to be stony, had rather a look of defeat to it, and his eyes were darkly ringed with sleeplessness. Qui-Gon suspected he had been awake all night, despite Depa’s urgings.

Qui-Gon moved a little under the covers and hissed with the flare of pain. “No worse than I should. Are you all right?”

Kenobi looked surprised by the question. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You weren’t last night.”

“I don’t have your stomach for making other people bleed. That doesn’t make me weak.”

“I didn’t think you were. And I’ve not much stomach for it either, truth be told.”

“But—but you just rolled over and went to sleep afterwards,” Kenobi burst out, incredulous.

“After I raped you? I didn’t, actually. I was awake, waiting for Palpatine, though I wanted you both to think otherwise.”

“Why both of us?” Kenobi’s incredulity had turned to suspicion.

“Because you’re quite transparent, lad,” Qui-Gon replied, not unkindly. “You’d have given the game away.”

Kenobi flushed, rather prettily Qui-Gon thought in a giddy way, surprised at himself and thinking he must still be feverish.

“That’s why you chose this punishment, isn’t it? You thought I’d be soft, go easy on you, didn’t you? And you could get off with the appearance of punishment. It would save your face and the Jedi’s without bankrupting or actually harming anyone.” Kenobi was fuming now, obviously feeling deceived.

It was a shrewd guess, if mistaken. “I said ‘transparent,’ not soft.  One doesn’t survive as well as you have by being soft. Especially when one is young and inexperienced.”

“Naive, you mean.”

“In some ways, yes,” Qui-Gon admitted, as gently as he could. Growing up in the creche, his own innocence was long gone by the time he was Kenobi’s age. It took an effort to remember when he’d been that unknowing himself.

“Sexually, especially,” Kenobi said ruefully.

“That I would call simple inexperience. I meant politically naive.”

Kenobi looked away and was silent for a bit. “I did suspect something, when Naipal disappeared. It just seemed so absurd—” He trailed off. “What a horrible death. And your padawan, too. If I hadn’t seen those pictures, or Palpatine attacking you, I would never have believed it.”

“As was meant to be the case. And he would have escaped if you hadn’t slowed him down. That was quick thinking.”

Again Kenobi said nothing, and looked away. Qui-Gon watched a wistful sadness flow over his face. It was remarkable how unguarded the lad’s emotions were. “I thought I’d found a safe niche there. A good place to move up from.”

“It won’t be much safer, here.” Qui-Gon warned him.

“But at least I understand the dangers in this place.”

“They’re not all physical.”

“No. Some of them seem to involve the soul as well.” Kenobi got to his feet again. “You need to eat something. I’ll get you some soup.” And he was gone.

 

Qui-Gon dozed feverishly off and on for the rest of the day after consuming his soup. His sleep was uninterrupted save for a brief visit by the healer, who clucked at him and gave him a broad spectrum anti-infective after checking his wounds.  Kenobi left him alone until evening when he appeared with more food. This time he was clearly angry.

“Why aren’t you taking any painkillers?” he demanded.

Qui-Gon was less surprised than gratified at Kenobi’s concern. He hadn’t read the boy wrong at all. “I wasn’t given permission to. I assumed it was part of my punishment.”

Kenobi’s eyes widened in outrage and then narrowed. “You bloody manipulative liar. I did not forbid—”

“No, but you didn’t allow, either. And I am in your care.”

That part of his responsibilities had apparently not occurred to Kenobi, and dismay flitted over his features, followed quickly by suspicion and annoyance. “Oh, for Retza’s sake—you didn’t even ask! Go ahead and suffer, Jinn. It’s nothing you didn’t foist on me.” He set the tray down and  turned on his heel.

“No, it’s not. And nothing I don’t deserve.”

That halted Kenobi almost comically in midstep. He stumbled and turned again, stared for a moment and came back to Qui-Gon’s bedside.

“Is that an admission of guilt?”

“You have that already, from the trial,” Qui-Gon reminded him. “I contested nothing I was accused of, except exceeding my authority and ordering Xan to keep his mouth shut. The rest—” he propped himself up gingerly on one elbow and looked into Kenobi’s eyes. “I knew exactly what I was doing, and what the consequences would be for you. I’ve never claimed otherwise.”

“An apology then, perhaps?” Kenobi crossed his arms, returning his look with a defiant glare.

Qui-Gon struggled to sit up, wincing. “I would give you one, now, if you are ready to hear it.”

Kenobi eyed him for a moment, considering. “I don’t think so. It would only be to forestall another beating,” he scoffed. “Keep it, Jinn.”

Qui-Gon watched him go with sadness, recognizing the rage and hurt still filling him. It was burning a little less hotly of late but was still an all-consuming flame. Slowly and carefully, he climbed out of bed and went to his knees, head to the floor, and recited yet another Act of Penance, back and groin throbbing. It was the least he could offer in place of something Kenobi was still not ready to accept.

* * *

In another three days, a total of seven into the Castigatum, he was pronounced sufficiently healed to resume his punishment. Kenobi didn’t bother with either the cage or denying him clothing, this time. And he had dropped the insistence that Jinn call him master. Qui-Gon suspected it was too much of a struggle and the boy was wearing out. Xan had told him Kenobi had gone back to his trauma therapist, but the nightmares continued and he seemed to be sleeping very little. Locked in his room at night, Qui-Gon heard Kenobi moving about restlessly in the hours of darkness.

Qui-Gon spent the next three days sewing, gaining a new appreciation for the amount of damage done in the field to Jedi clothing and becoming adept at repairing it. When the mending was done each day, he spent the remainder in meditation or a padawan’s traditional housekeeping chores. Each evening he met Kenobi at the door on his knees with this head to the floor and a silent Act of Penance in his heart. For a few days, Kenobi merely ignored him, leaving him to his chores and meditation, herding him into his room when he wanted privacy and locking the door behind him, then pacing through the night. It made Qui-Gon almost glad for the suppression collar. Without it, he was certain he would have been overwhelmed by the misery and turmoil he was sure the boy was radiating.  What Qui-Gon wasn’t sure of was how much longer he could bear to watch Kenobi suffering. That alone was punishment enough. But he wondered which one of them it would break first.

As he considered how to move events along in his meditation one evening ten days into his sentence, Kenobi broke his concentration with a low murmur. The boy was sitting forward in his chair, head in his hands. “I beg your pardon?” Qui-Gon said in a gentle tone, not wanting to startle.

Without looking up, Kenobi shook his head and said, “You win.” Qui-Gon felt his heart leap in dread, but made no reply, and Kenobi raised his head, his eyes glittering. “I can’t do this. I want an end to it.”

“There is no win or lose in this, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon told him. He kept his voice soft, his tone gentle. “There is only punishment and healing.”

Kenobi laughed bitterly, tears spilling down his cheeks. “You’re getting very little of the former and I’m getting none of the latter. What’s the use?”

Qui-Gon considered his next words carefully. This was a delicate moment and if he was not to lose Kenobi completely to his anger and pain, it would have to be handled with great care. “I hear you at night, you know,” he murmured, looking down at his hands, wanting no sense of confrontation in his demeanor. For the first time, he let down his own internal barriers and let the shame of his actions fill him. It pinched his voice off in his throat and constricted his heart. “I hear you crying out. I hear you pacing. I can see you’re not sleeping, that you don’t eat, that you’re not at peace. And I know I’m the cause of that.”

“It must make you feel very powerful, then,” Kenobi snarled, his voice caustic.

It was all Qui-Gon could do not to flinch from it. “No. It doesn’t. It shames me,” he said quietly. “It’s my failure that I could think of no other way to perform my duties than to use another sentient being as a pawn. It shames me that I injured an innocent, whatever the reason. It shames me more because I’ve had it done to me and I know how I felt afterwards.”

“Don’t you dare compare your pain to mine—” Kenobi shouted, suddenly enraged. It was all so near the surface now, which was both good and bad. If Qui-Gon could lance this wound, there was a chance for both of them yet.

“No, no,” Qui-Gon shook his head. “I would never presume to,” he assured the boy. “Suffering is a very individual thing and we all do it alone. The most I can do is empathize. What I meant is that, if anyone should know better than to commit such an act, I should.”

“Then why—” Kenobi choked. “Why?” The last word was clearly a plea.

Qui-Gon made himself look up again, but couldn’t meet Kenobi’s eyes. “Because I could see no other way to serve the greater good. Saying I wish it were not so doesn’t change anything for you, but I do wish it. I hope someday you will believe that if there were another way, I would have taken it. Palpatine’s death is no consolation to me. Nor a justification.”

Kenobi looked at him, each blink sending fresh tears down his face. “I almost believe you. I wish I could.”

“What’s stopping you?” Qui-Gon asked, wanting the information and hoping not to sound confrontational.

“Memory,” Kenobi said after a moment, swiping at his eyes. “I remember how implacable you were. Cold and calculating and cruel. There was no warmth in you, no mercy, even when I was clearly in pain.”

“No. No, you’re right, there wasn’t,” Qui-Gon admitted, to Kenobi’s evident surprise. “Because I couldn’t afford it. Your fear had to be real, your pain had to be real for Palpatine to sense it and be drawn out by it. The Sith thrive on those emotions and there is no way to simulate them. So I wound you up with threats and hard words and psychological cruelty, hoping I could hurt you as little as possible physically.”

Kenobi’s expression was somewhere between abhorrence and disbelief, and Qui-Gon despaired of ever explaining himself successfully. It mattered more than he liked to admit that Kenobi understand why he had done this thing, even if the boy couldn’t forgive. It rocked him to realize how important Kenobi’s opinion of him had become. Perhaps there was no adequate explanation for what he’d done, or nothing that didn’t sound like an excuse. He watched as Kenobi, almost despite himself, mulled over Qui-Gon’s words.

“You didn’t hurt me much, physically at least,” the boy acknowledged in a low tone. “Just bruises, a couple of small tears, despite what I said earlier.”

“Thank you. For telling me that.” He’d known, of course, because he’d checked on Kenobi throughout the time before the trial. But giving Qui-Gon that information signaled something of a thaw in their relations, he hoped.

“Does it,” Kenobi hesitated, obviously steeling himself to ask something uncomfortable. “Does it always hurt like that, or was it just because . . .”

“Because it was your first time?” Kenobi nodded, looking deeply ashamed and determined at the same time. “Less that than because you were terrified and tense, because you were being forced, because I used so little lubrication, and I didn’t prepare you at all, except to be hurt.”

“Prepare me?”

Force, the boy really was innocent, especially for his age. It was shocking. “Those muscles can be loosened with a little care and time. You’ve never put a finger up there to pleasure yourself?”

Kenobi flushed. “No, why—what—” he stammered.

“Your prostate. That’s what you were reacting to the second time, the spot I kept hitting, to give you a little pleasure.” Kenobi looked deeply disturbed now, remembering that, remembering how he’d been made to squirm and beg, made to come. “You couldn’t have helped that,” Qui-Gon said gently. “You’re not responsible for the way your body reacts to stimuli you can’t control. And fear is often a powerful sexual stimulant.”

“Did it arouse you?” Kenobi snapped, flushing.

“Yes, it did.” _Give him all of it,_ Qui-Gon thought. _All the brutal, shameful truth. It’s time you did._ “But I had to think of it as a fantasy, not that I was actually forcing you. I’m not a rapist by nature.”

“What about you? Did they make you beg for it and enjoy it too, when you were raped?” The question was half challenge, half desperate sneer, trying to save face.

Qui-Gon ignored the provocation and responded with bald facts, hoping to calm the waters a bit. “I orgasmed, but there was nothing enjoyable about it. And I was deeply ashamed at first. I was gang-raped both times, at both ends.”

Kenobi looked sorry he’d asked. He stared for a moment, then ducked his head and ran his fingers nervously through his hair several times.

“I don’t understand,” he muttered. “How could you—” The boy sounded so confused. It was heartbreaking.

“How could I do the same thing to you?”

“Yes, but—no, how—how did you ever get over it?” Kenobi sounded desperate and frightened.

Qui-Gon wondered suddenly when was the last time the boy had had any physical comfort from anyone. Even just a touch, he suspected, would go a long way. It pained Qui-Gon that he was in no position to give one. “It takes time, Obi-Wan. You’ve had hardly any. I had training and preparation that you didn’t, and still it took me a long while to come as far as you’ve done.” Qui-Gon sighed. “To be truthful, there’s bits one never gets over.”

“You don’t, you don’t like blow jobs. Is that why?”

Qui-Gon’s mouth twitched up in a sardonic half smile. “I was forced to do it the first time, when I was fifteen. Every day, two or three times a day. For several days. Let’s say it rather soured the expectations I’d had.”

Kenobi swallowed uncomfortably. This wasn’t the answer he’d expected; or perhaps it was. Clearly, he wanted to apologize, empathize; just as clearly he knew he couldn’t—or shouldn’t—be feeling pity for the man who had been so brutal to him. “Fifteen,” he whispered, clearly appalled.  “Were you a means to an end too?”

“No. Just available. And an enemy. And helpless.”

“But how—you’re a Jedi.”

“We’re not invincible. Even grown Jedi.”

“You’re saying it wasn’t the same—”

“No. I’m saying it is. Neither of us had any control over what happened to us.”

Kenobi didn’t know what to do with that, so he ignored it. “So you don’t like it at all.”

“With a partner I care for, I’ll do it if they ask,” Qui-Gon admitted. “But no, I don’t generally like it. That’s one of the things I never got over.”

“I’m sorry,” Kenobi said, the words seeming to slip out before he could stop them. “I wouldn’t have—”

Qui-Gon shrugged. “It was a fitting punishment.” When Kenobi said nothing, only sat staring at the floor, Qui-Gon filled the silence himself. “May I ask you something?”

“What?” the lad responded in a dull voice that chilled Qui-Gon. Kenobi was losing hope. Even without access to the Force, Qui-Gon could almost see the grey bleakness settling over the boy. He needed to be jolted it out of it before it buried him.

“Why haven’t you fucked me?” Qui-Gon asked in a tone of curiosity. “That was the first thing I expected you to do. Why did you stop the other night?”

Kenobi’s head snapped up and he gawped at Qui-Gon open-mouthed. “You know,” he sputtered finally, “even if I hadn’t seen them, that would have told me you’ve got the biggest pair of durasteel balls on the planet.”

“I’m not being facetious.”

“Because I suspect you’d like it too much, Jinn,” Kenobi snapped, clearly outraged. That was better than the grey cloud.

“That’s not why.”

“If you know my motives so well, you tell me.”

“Worry that you couldn’t? I know you’ve never fucked a man before.”

“I don’t like you well enough to fuck you.”

“I don’t believe that’s true either. I think you’re afraid.”

“Of you?” Kenobi snorted. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “That you’ll enjoy it. With me.”

That brought Kenobi out of his chair, one hand at his belt buckle. “Let’s find out, shall we? On your knees, Jinn. You’re going to suck me until I’m hard. And then I’m going to fuck you.”

In a moment, his leggings were open and he was standing in front of Qui-Gon, who had obediently gone to his knees and now shocked Kenobi by helping the boy free his cock and taking it willingly into his mouth. Qui-Gon was a little shocked himself at how easy it was, how much he wanted to give Kenobi at least this much pleasure. Clearly no one had done this for the boy before, not the way it should be done. The last time had been more him fucking Qui-Gon’s mouth than Qui-Gon giving him pleasure. Now, he wrapped his hands around the backs of Kenobi’s thighs and pulled him closer, taking him almost down his throat and swallowing, feeling the boy’s cock swell in his mouth, then pulled back and began working him carefully.

Kenobi’s fists were clenched in Qui-Gon’s hair, his back bowed, head thrown back in pleasure. “Oh gods!” he whimpered as Qui-Gon teased the sensitive spot below the crown with his tongue and ran his hands up to squeeze Kenobi’s buttocks. Carefully, he pushed the foreskin back and swiped over the head, across the slit, tasting pre-cum. For once, and for some reason Qui-Gon couldn’t fathom, it wasn’t unpleasant. Despite Kenobi’s trauma, the boy was hotwired to the right touch and as eager as any youth his age. Within moments of starting, Qui-Gon had him gasping and quivering.

When Kenobi began to shake, he pulled back, leaving the boy’s cock hard and glistening, curved up against his belly and painting wet swashes against his shirt. A little stunned, Kenobi blinked and looked down into Qui-Gon’s upturned face. Qui-Gon leaned in and gave a long lick up the underside, over the big pulsing vein. Kenobi dragged his head back and away. “Enough,” he growled, shoving Qui-Gon down, bending him over until he was face to the floor. Kenobi kicked his knees apart, then knelt between them and pushed the penitent’s robe up over his back. In a moment Qui-Gon felt fingers fumbling at his hole, spreading his ass, and the head of Kenobi’s cock pressing against him. Not waiting for the boy to figure out the logistics, he pushed back, breathing out and relaxing his muscles. Kenobi slid in with a yelp, and Qui-Gon felt himself speared by a cock not so much smaller than his own.

Kenobi seemed stunned at the sensations. Then Qui-Gon tightened his anus, making Kenobi jerk his hips reflexively, and that was all the cue the boy needed. They set a fast, roughshod rhythm, Kenobi pushing into him with the slap of flesh and a grunt that pushed a reciprocal one out of his partner. Qui-Gon’s hand strayed to his hardening cock and Kenobi slapped it away, closing his own hand around Qui-Gon himself and pumping brutally.

“Spit!” Qui-Gon demanded. “In your hand,” and Kenobi complied, then curled his fist around him once again. Qui-Gon grunted and bucked against him, a low groan rolling out from deep in his chest as he felt his climax approaching.

But Kenobi came first, stopping in mid-thrust against him, hips jerking as he gave a sharp cry. Qui-Gon closed  his fist around Kenobi’s and kept it moving until his own cock jumped in their hands, spasming as his anus did around Kenobi’s cock still inside him. Jizz spattered the floor and inside Qui-Gon’s rectum and Kenobi folded against his back, gasping. It was too much for Qui-Gon’s trembling legs and he went down under the extra weight.

After a moment, Kenobi rolled off him and curled up around himself with his back to Qui-Gon. He watched Kenobi’s ribs heaving, feeling a bit stunned himself, and gave the boy time to collect his wits again. But Kenobi only curled more tightly around himself when Qui-Gon touched his shoulder.

_That’s torn it,_ Qui-Gon thought. He moved closer gingerly, half-prepared to be turned on and struck, but nothing happened when he curled himself around Kenobi and slid one arm around his waist. Slowly, their breathing quieted together but Kenobi didn’t move. For a moment, Qui-Gon wondered if he’d fallen asleep. Then Kenobi reached up with one hand and scrubbed at his face.

“Well, that was all wrong,” he muttered.

Qui-Gon couldn’t help himself. He laughed. Kenobi rolled over and glared at him. “I thought you didn’t like oral sex?”

“I don’t, most of the time. But I’d much rather willingly suck off a partner than forcibly blow a rapist.”

Kenobi blanched at that and Qui-Gon touched his cheek tenderly for just a moment before the boy flinched away. “I don’t think you have that in you. That’s why you’re finding it so difficult to punish me. You’re asking something of yourself that’s not second nature to you.”

“But it is to you.” Obi-Wan sat up and tucked himself in again, then wrapped his arms around his knees. Qui-Gon joined him, pulling his penitent’s robe down underneath himself and sitting cross-legged facing Kenobi. The boy’s face was still flushed, his eyes heavy-lidded with satiation.

Qui-Gon suppressed a sigh. “I’m decades older than you, Obi-Wan. I’ve known nothing but the Jedi all my life. I started training to fight when I was four. I built my first lightsaber at ten. By the time I was your age, I’d been a knight for five years and seen conflict on more worlds than I can easily remember. I’ve been in danger most of my life and had to make hard decisions about other people’s fates for probably longer than you’ve been alive. You’ve had a hard life of a different kind, that made different demands and made you a different kind of person. But I saw your face when I told you what happened to your friend Naipal, and to Anakin. You’re a good man, and you know there’s something inherently wrong with vengeance, even though you want it.”

Kenobi sank his head onto his knees for a while then looked up with anguish in his face. “It’s not right that you get a free pass for what you did.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed. “That’s why I chose this punishment. I hope it will remind me that other decisions like this should only be a last resort.”

“And how do I remind you of that? How do I make you remember?” There was despair in Kenobi’s voice and the last thing Qui-Gon wanted was to make him feel he’d failed.

“May I make a suggestion?” Qui-Gon offered. Warily, Kenobi nodded, watching him with as little trust as they’d begun with. And if that didn’t change, it would be yet another failure of Qui-Gon’s abilities.  “Let me try and repair the damage I’ve done to you. I can teach you what to do with the anger, how to put some order to your emotions and not let them rule you. Let me help you come out the other side of this a stronger, wiser person, rather than an angry, embittered one.”

“And how is this a punishment to you?” The scorn was back now, but there was a weary undertone to it.

“Because I have to look at you every day and know it was my handiwork that wounded you, the way I have to wonder if I could have done anything to save Anakin. If you don’t think that’s punishment enough, there’s still—”

“No,” Kenobi said quietly. “No, I know it is.”

That was quite an admission in itself, Qui-Gon realized. What followed was a genuine breakthrough.

“No. You’re not what—or who—I thought you were, Jinn.” Kenobi stared off into the distance for a while, considering. “What would this involve?”

“I’d teach you some meditation techniques, methods of dealing with your nightmares, some different ways to think about what was done to you.”

“Like what?” Kenobi said with sudden suspicion.

“Nothing that would diminish the legitimacy of what you feel, or the magnitude of the wrong you suffered,” Qui-Gon was quick to reassure him. “But if you think of yourself only as a victim, you cede control of your life to another. To me, in fact. I’m allowed to define who and what you are. You become my means to an end, nothing more.”

“I forget you’ve heard the therapist spiel too,” Kenobi observed sourly.

“There’s truth in it, I’ve found. You have that choice: to define yourself as a passive victim, or instead as someone who made a terrible sacrifice for the good of others under the worst of conditions. You can chose to stop growing and learning at this point, or to go on.”

That seemed to prick Kenobi’s pride a little. “And how do your rapes fit that pattern?” There was a note of derision still in the boy’s voice, but it was only one among others: curiosity, determination, and, finally, hope.

“Less than yours,” Qui-Gon acknowledged, “except as occupational hazards. I’ve as much chance of that as of being injured some other way or dying violently. Those are possibilities I chose by deciding to be a Jedi. But whatever happens to me does not define me. Only what I choose to do and to be defines me. For the moment, that means I’m—” Qui-Gon stumbled there, unsure of what he was at this moment, or of what he was feeling besides shame. _Then own up to it,_ he told himself. “I’m your rapist, and that’s what I need to learn from. We can help each other, lad.”

Still obviously harboring misgivings, Kenobi nodded tentatively. “All right. But I have the right to terminate this agreement at any time.”

“Of course. As I started to say, you’re still free to punish me any way you see fit, within the bounds of this Castigatum.”

“It’s got to be better than trying to get you to do something you don’t want to,” he muttered. “Master Yoda was right about you.”

Qui-Gon wisely did not reply.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They started the next day, immediately after the breakfast Qui-Gon prepared. At the beginning, Kenobi was understandably wary—of him, of what he was being told to do, even of what he was feeling. That wariness faded as Qui-Gon led him through exercises the youngest initiates learned, though the pace was more rapid than normal. Kenobi’s power of concentration was good, but his own doubts and insecurities made him too self-conscious at first. After some initial misgivings and several days of false starts, he learned to find his way into the trance with Qui-Gon’s coaching, though it took more days for him to understand finally what Qui-Gon meant by his “center.”  It was a difficult lesson to teach when he could not sense the Force himself, but in the long run, he knew that would only make him more sensitive to the early fumblings of a new padawan. If he ever took another. But that was a question for another day, if his heart could bear it. Anakin’s death was still too fresh for him to consider it now.

Once Kenobi had found that place in himself, he emerged astonished and almost radiant—and far calmer than he had been since the rape.

“I feel, I feel so—” Kenobi groped for words, still in an almost rapt euphoria.

“Awake?” Qui-Gon suggested, smiling. It gave him almost as much pleasure to see the boy beaming as it gave Kenobi to feel this way. “You are. You’re more alive in the Force.”

“Is it always like this?”

“No, not always. Sometimes it’s hard to find your center. And as it becomes less novel, it will simply leave you feeling clearheaded and peaceful.”

“So enjoy it now, you’re saying.” Kenobi seemed a little crestfallen.

“Just enjoy it when it comes,” Qui-Gon corrected. “Don’t think of this feeling as a goal, but as a side effect. I suspect some of what you’re feeling is a deeper connection with the Force. If you can learn to let that guide you more than you already do on an unconscious level, I doubt we’ll have a finer pilot, or a better fighter.”

“How do I do that?”

_How indeed?_ Qui-Gon wondered. This was so different from teaching the younglings, who had no ingrained preconceptions of what was supposed to be. Teaching Kenobi was more than just finding a metaphor to make the process clear. He was having to open up entirely new possibilities to a mind with set thought patterns. It would be so much easier to show him in a guided, shared meditation, than to simply describe it, but that was currently out of the question with the damned suppression collar.  “By learning to trust yourself, and your instincts.”

“Easier said than done,” Kenobi returned sourly.

“At your age, yes. But only impossible if you never begin.”

“Point taken,” the lad returned.

“Let me show you,” Qui-Gon said, taken with a sudden idea. He went to the pile of mending and rummaged for a sash, then walked over behind Kenobi, who started to turn to face him. Qui-Gon touched the red-gold head lightly. “No, stay as you are. Trust me.” He doubled the material over and wrapped it twice around Kenobi’s eyes then tucked one end under, leaving a long swath trailing down the young man’s back. That done, he walked silently to the low table nearby and picked up a cup one of them had recently emptied.

“What’s this supposed t—” Kenobi began, touching the cloth.

“Incoming,” Qui-Gon said softly, pitching the cup at Kenobi’s head in a slow underhand.

The boy’s hand flashed out and caught it unerringly just a palm-width from his face.

“Well done,” Qui-Gon told him. “Did you see it?”

Kenobi touched the cloth over his eyes again and hefted the cup with the other hand. “Yes—No. I don’t—”

“Trust your feelings, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said gently.

“No, then,” Kenobi said firmly. “But I knew where it was.”

“Indeed you did.”

“But—”

“No buts. You knew this the same way you know now what an opponent on the mat is about to do. Did you think those strikes you landed on me in Palpatine’s rooms were sheer luck? Against a Jedi? I tied you for a good reason. You have a kick like an eopie.”

Kenobi drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, already learning to calm himself this way when something rocked his foundations, as this explanation of his speed and skills certainly did.

“All right. Teach me to use this, then,” he said with a new, fierce determination.

“With pleasure,” Qui-Gon agreed with a trace of wistfulness for what they’d missed. It would have been such a pleasure to bring Kenobi up to knighthood.  “As much as we have time for.”

 

After several days of this, there seemed to be not just a distinct thaw in their relations, but signs of warming. Qui-Gon was all too happy to expand the lad’s natural abilities, and Kenobi was enthralled by his new knowledge and experiences. He was a quick student, which only made Qui-Gon the more sorry they hadn’t found the boy when he was younger. He was certain Kenobi would have made a fine Jedi. So he poured everything he could into their lessons.

As another form of meditation, he taught the boy unarmed katas, the theory of which Kenobi was already familiar with from his own combat studies, and watched with pleasure as they were performed with a fluid grace. And again under the guise of meditation, he set Kenobi exercises in Force manipulation, unsurprised when the boy quickly learned the rudimentary aspects of moving and levitating objects. Another might have been overly proud of these new-found skills, but Kenobi only seemed awed by them.

The meditation served him well. He slept better, regained his appetite, was less jittery and more even-tempered. Qui-Gon discovered that the young man beneath all that suffering and anger had a surprising sense of humor—dry and witty and clever—and a sunny disposition. The boy was full of questions about what he was learning, about the Force, about what the Jedi were really like, and they spent long evenings in discussion. The atmosphere in their rooms became far less fraught as Kenobi’s anger spent itself in katas and meditation.

Kenobi was still working with Xan on tracing through Palpatine’s files and piecing together the shape of the conspiracy and its members. With Kenobi’s permission, Xan had spoken about their findings with Qui-Gon, and the master and former padawan were analyzing the data Kenobi helped them find. This project filled Qui-Gon’s days between tutoring Kenobi and the interminable mending, a task of which the boy smugly refused to relieve him. “Consider it,” Kenobi had replied when asked, “a reminder, Penitent Jinn.” Qui-Gon recognized it for what it was—an attempt to maintain some semblance of control, now that Kenobi had placed himself in Qui-Gon’s hands—and bowed to it without complaint. There were so few ways in which Kenobi remained the penance master that Qui-Gon did not begrudge him this one.

By the time of Depa’s next inspection, the two of them were mostly cordial, if not entirely friendly. Kenobi was still wary of him, still somewhat mistrustful and suspicious, though far more inclined than before to give Qui-Gon the benefit of the doubt. But in that reserve was something the boy was still brooding about.

“There’s one more thing you need to show me,” Kenobi announced one evening over dinner, another ten days into Qui-Gon’s sentence.  Qui-Gon looked up from the datapadd he’d been allowed, also at Xan’s request. The lad drew in a deep breath, uncertainty clear on his face, his words coming out on the exhale. “Show me what it should be like,”

“You’ll have to be more specific, I’m afraid,” Qui-Gon replied, sounding more brusque than he meant to.

“Sex,” Kenobi said, coloring but clearly determined.

Startled, Qui-Gon took a deep breath of his own to gain a moment to think. “You should find another partner for that, not me,” he replied more gently.

“Look, my only experience with sex is a fumbling mutual masturbation in a public toilet and rape—” Kenobi began.

“Precisely. And your rapist shouldn’t be the one to initiate you into the real mysteries. No.” Qui-Gon got up from the table and began to clear their plates.

Kenobi followed him. “Why should I have to inflict my fears on another partner when you made them?”

“That’s what therapy is for.”

“True enough, but I have nothing to make any comparison to. You wanted to repair the damage you’ve done,” he insisted, anger tinging his words now. “Think of this as part of your penance, making it up to me in pleasure. You’re not allowed to refuse me.”

“Regardless, I am refusing. It’s not wise.” Qui-Gon leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms, “Look, lad, there’s a syndrome people tend to develop when locked up in close proximity with someone who’s harmed them. After a time, they begin to sympathize with them, purely as a way of surviving.”

“That’s what you think I’ve started to do.” Kenobi’s dismissal of the idea was plain.

“It’s possible. Putting us in constant proximity this way—”

“Look, yourself, Penitent Jinn,” the boy retorted. “I understand why that’s done now. It’s a way of humanizing you.”

“And a way of giving you a face, as well,” Qui-Gon countered. “Of reminding me that you’re an individual.”

“I could force you.” Kenobi set his jaw obstinately.

“I doubt it. I don’t think the Council would allow it.”

Kenobi opened his mouth with another retort hot on his tongue, then started to laugh. “This is a bit ironic, isn’t it? We’re here because you forced me to have sex with you when I didn’t want it, and now you’re refusing to have sex with me when I do want it.”

It was ironic, and almost funny enough to draw a chuckle from Qui-Gon as well, had the stakes not been so high. He would not harm Kenobi again. “Do you understand why?” he asked, putting every bit of sincerity he possessed into the words. “You’re very vulnerable right now, and you don’t really want to have sex with me—”

“Yes, I do,” Kenobi shot back, looking not at all vulnerable, Qui-Gon had to admit to himself. “And who do you think you are, Jinn, telling me what I want? I’ll tell you what I want: I want you fix the associations in my head, to give me a point of comparison. I’ve got fear and arousal and desire and pain all mixed up because of you, and I need to know what belongs together. If you’re really the man you claim to be, you’ll be capable of that.”

“And if I’m not, you’ll be subjecting yourself to one more bad experience.”

“Then we’ll make a bargain: do it right, I’ll cut the Castigatum short and tell them I’ve opted for the Merced instead. Hurt me again and I’ll tell them you’re incorrigible and demand the Penulum—and I’ll make sure you get it. You said yourself that if you were such a rogue, they would have offered me the Annulum.”

Qui-Gon was silent, weighing the options. It was a tempting offer; Force knew having sex with Kenobi again would be no hardship, nor would doing so with care and affection this time round. He’d grown to both respect and like the lad during their mutual confinement, and he was undeniably attractive. And there was the urgency of the Republic’s situation to consider as well. He knew he was needed and wondered if Kenobi knew it too and had made this offer to force Qui-Gon’s acquiescence.

“Turn off the collar,” Qui-Gon said. “I won’t make any bargain like this with you unless I can sense your feelings. I won’t be coerced into hurting you again. Not when I have a choice in the matter.”

It was Kenobi’s turn to weigh his own fears and desires then. And after a few moments, he gave a curt nod, dug the controller from his pocket, and pressed the correct switch.

The Force flooded back through Qui-Gon’s senses like a rip tide, literally staggering him. Kenobi caught and steadied him while his jangled nerves grew used to the stimuli once again, slowly allowing him to sense the individuals in the riot of life around him. And the brightest spark, not just from proximity, was the lad standing next to him.

Beside him, Kenobi was clutching his arm, holding him up, but there was a frown on the boy’s face.

“What’s wrong?” Qui-Gon asked him when the dizziness subsided.

“I, I feel something. A prickling, a charge. Like lightning grounding itself.” Kenobi looked up into his face, awed. “That’s you.”

Qui-Gon thickened his shields. “Better?”

“Yes. What—?”

“You’re sensing my Force signature. Master Yoda taught you what to look for?”

“In general. But yours is so strong. Or it was.”

“I’m shielding now. One usually does around other Force sensitives. Otherwise it’s like constantly shouting ‘I’m here!’” _Like you’re doing_ , Qui-Gon thought, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Even so, it was wonderous to have that connection again. “I’ll have to show you how to do that, now that I can sense you again. You’re probably going round giving everyone a headache through no fault of your own.” Kenobi’s signature was brighter and more vibrant than he remembered, but perhaps that was only because he’d been cut off from the Force for so long and was oversensitive. Or perhaps it was simply because the boy was no longer terrified and in shock.

What was inside Kenobi was unsullied yet, despite his experiences, but clearly in turmoil. But there was also a core of goodness and a now-wounded sense of innocence that must have drawn Palpatine like honey. The idea of that abomination touching this part of the boy made Qui-Gon shudder inwardly.

He must have been staring because Kenobi moved away from him uncomfortably. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Qui-Gon nodded. “Just give me a moment to get used to it again. Two weeks is along time for a Jedi to be cut off from the Force.” He did pinch the bridge of his nose then, his head throbbing a little with the strength of Kenobi’s signature. It was almost as though his tutoring had concentrated the lad’s presence in the Force, focused it somehow. Perhaps it had.

“So tell me what you sense,” Kenobi demanded. “Am I lying? Am I just manipulating you? Do I seem confused?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Your signature isn’t what it was. But it’s obvious you’ve been hurt, too.”

“And so have you, Jinn. Does that make you incapable of making rational decisions?”

“I still don’t think this is a rational decision. Why do you want me—”

“Because you _owe_ me this,” Kenobi snapped. “And because,” he stammered, turning away, “because I don’t want my memories of the man who’s taught me so much to be so conflicted. I have to exorcize those images of you.”

This time, for the first time, it was Qui-Gon who looked away. He was silent for a moment, testing the Force for some kind of guidance, but there was no clear answer in it, either right or wrong. There had been no clear answer in Palpatine’s hidden rooms, either. “I suppose I do owe you, having robbed you of the possibility of a pleasurable first experience. I don’t know that I can make that up to you. You’re the only one who can say whether it will make a difference, no matter how kind I am, or how hard I work to make this positive.” Qui-Gon exhaled heavily. “Very well.  Just promise me that you will tell me to stop, if I do something that troubles you. And that you will leave the collar off so I can sense any distress.”

“I would have anyway,” Kenobi said quietly, reaching up to remove it. “And I’ll give you a fair chance, I promise.”

“Then let’s both wash up, first. And we need something to use for lubricant.”

“I’ve got that. From the commissary.”

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. “How long have you been thinking about this?”

“Does it matter?”

“It might make me feel a bit easier about it.”

“I doubt it,” Kenobi replied and turned toward the fresher. Was that a trace of mischief in the flash of smile?

Qui-Gon waited while Kenobi used the fresher. He came out with a towel wrapped around his hips, damp and flushed and enticing. Qui-Gon was surprised by the stir of heat in his groin. Kenobi stopped in front of him. “All yours,” he stated needlessly, looking nervous. Whether he meant the fresher or himself was anyone’s guess.

Qui-Gon cupped his face in both hands and kissed his forehead, surprising at least one of them. “I’ll come to your room then. In a few minutes.”

He found Kenobi sitting on the side of the bed, still in his towel, with the controller in his hand. A click loosened Qui-Gon’s anklet. “Might as well take that off, too. I think it was more for my benefit than your deterrence anyway.”

Qui-Gon didn’t deny it. Wrapped in his own towel, he sat down beside Kenobi and slipped the anklet off, laying it on the bedside table near the rather large bottle of lube. If they went through all of that in one night, they’d set some sort of record, he thought.

“Wait, stay that way,” Kenobi said, putting a hand to his shoulder to prevent him from turning around again. Qui-Gon obliged, and felt Kenobi’s fingertips grazing his skin, tracing the path of the two or three new scars left by his caning.

“I did this?”

“It’s nothing. I’ve many more you didn’t do.”

“It’s not nothing. It’s more than you did to me.”

Qui-Gon turned around then. “Are you so certain, lad? I’d say the ones I left on you just aren’t so obvious. I expect that’s why we’re sitting here, like this.”

“Oh,” Kenobi said, and looked down at his hands still clasped around the controller in his lap. And after a moment:  “Now what?”

Qui-Gon took the controller from him gently and placed it on the table too. “Whatever you like.”

“I don’t know—” he began, waving one hand in frustration.

“Then suppose we start here,” Qui-Gon murmured, and leaned forward and kissed him. Kenobi made a startled noise, then closed his eyes and returned it tentatively, mirroring Qui-Gon, turning his body into the kiss. Qui-Gon licked across the boy’s lips. “Open,” he whispered, raising one hand to cup the back of the boy’s neck, and Kenobi did. As Qui-Gon’s tongue slipped in, Kenobi made another noise, whether startlement or pleasure was unclear. Qui-Gon made sure this was a leisurely exploration, nothing like the ravenous plundering of the rape. Their tongues touched, slithered over each other, and Qui-Gon retreated, letting Kenobi push into his mouth, inexpert but curious. Two hands came up and closed on Qui-Gon’s biceps, pushing him down on the bed and following him down without breaking the kiss. He reached for Kenobi’s waist and guided him down alongside when the boy would have straddled him, then turned them both on their sides.

Qui-Gon pulled back then. “Slow down. Enjoy the kiss,” he urged quietly, trailing his fingers  across Kenobi’s cheek, down his neck, and tracing his collarbones. His touch raised a dimpling of skin and a shiver. He leaned back in and pressed his lips to Obi-Wan’s and was opened to without prompting or hesitation this time. Qui-Gon’s arm went around his waist and snugged him close as they traded the kiss back and forth.

Kenobi broke it and leaned back, panting, mouth swollen. Qui-Gon leaned back in and nipped the boy’s tantalizing lower lip then moved down over his chin, nipping there too, at the cleft, and down his neck. He sucked gently there, bruising painlessly, and kissed a line up under his jaw to his ear as Kenobi clutched at him, giving surprised little gasps.

“Good?” Qui-Gon murmured against his neck.

“Y-yes. Yes. Go on.” The boy was trembling already, like some high-strung racing animal, and Qui-Gon had barely begun.

“You smell wonderful,” Qui-Gon told him, rubbing the scruff of new beard against Kenobi’s neck and cheek as though marking him.

“I—yes, you too.” Kenobi agreed, one hand burying itself in Qui-Gon’s lengthening brush cut, the other gliding over his ribs and down to his waist. “Take this off,” he said, tugging at the towel. “I want to look at you.”

Qui-Gon rolled onto his back and unwrapped his towel, pulling it out from beneath his hips and tossing it onto the floor. He lay back across the bed then, feet still flat on the floor, while Kenobi propped himself up on an elbow. He lay still while Kenobi’s hand drifted over his chest and belly, down to the line joining leg and torso and back up. Half hard already, his cock twitched in interest. Kenobi leaned over him and licked tentatively at one nipple. Qui-Gon made an appreciative noise and stroked the back of Kenobi’s head. The copper strands were soft and long, falling over the back of his neck. Another lick and Kenobi’s mouth closed over the nub of flesh, sucking, drawing a rumble of pleasure out of Qui-Gon.

“More of that’s fine, lad. Bite a little,” he said.

Kenobi’s head came up. “You like that?”

“I like a lot of stimulation. A well-placed nip, a slap, a pinch. That doesn’t mean you will, or that you should. One likes what one likes.”

“Show me,” he said.

“Finish your exploration, first. It’s probably best if you’re comfortable with touching me before I start touching you. But let’s get rid of this,” Qui-Gon replied, whisking away Kenobi’s towel. The boy’s hands moved in an almost reflexive action to cover himself and then stopped.

“It’s all right, lad. We’re both naked here. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Look all you want. Touch all you want.”

Kenobi set his mouth and nodded, then bent his head to Qui-Gon’s nipple again and bit down experimentally. Qui-Gon hissed and groaned softly in pleasure. “Good. That’s good,” he encouraged. “The other one.” And Kenobi obliged, alternating until they were both hard peaks. His hand strayed down across Qui-Gon’s ribs and an old ridge of scars there, down his hip and then up the inside of one thigh.

“That _is_ soft,” Kenobi observed, sounding surprised. “I remember you saying that.”

“Like the back of the knee,” Qui-Gon added, “the inside of the elbow, the edge of the armpit, the hollow of the throat. Even on men there are soft spots.”

“Including the heart,” Kenobi murmured, bending his head again to plant a kiss where his fingertips had been.

Qui-Gon sighed and stroked through Kenobi’s hair again. “This is very soft too. So fine. More like red gold than copper in this light.”

The warm mouth on the inside of his thigh bit down lightly there, too, then licked over it. Qui-Gon felt his scrotum hefted, a thumb rubbing across the textured surface, teasing the fine hairs there. In response, his sac tightened and drew up closer to his cock, which was arced over his belly now, fully erect, the head purple. Kenobi gave it an experimental stroke, making Qui-Gon hiss and move into it.

“I can’t believe this didn’t rip me apart,” Kenobi said, wrapping his hand around Qui-Gon’s shaft to test the girth.

“Please believe me when I say I was more focused on frightening you than truly hurting you. I know it didn’t seem so, but I was careful.”

“I believe you,” Kenobi replied quietly. “You could have torn me open so easily.”

“The last thing I wanted,” Qui-Gon said softly, stroking his hair.

“Do you like—”

“Fellatio? On the receiving end, yes. But that’s hardly fair. And as you say, it’s rather a mouthful. I don’t ask, often. And I’m a bit nervous about your mouth in particular.”

Kenobi, he was pleased to see, gave him a wicked little grin. Then he squeezed Qui-Gon’s balls hard enough to make him hiss and squirm. “Yes! Right—Just like that,” he growled. “Yes!” When the pressure let up, Qui-Gon was panting.

“You do like a bit of pain.”

“Just the edge of it. The endorphins tone it down more than you’d guess.”

“I see,” Kenobi replied, hand starting to glide lazily up and down Qui-Gon’s cock. He rocked into for few moments, then stopped Kenobi’s hand.

“Don’t wind me up too much. My recovery time is rather longer than yours.”

“All right. Your turn then.” Kenobi let go and turned over on his back looking both nervous and expectant.

“Tell me if you don’t like whatever I’m doing, and I’ll stop.”

“You have to start first,” he said wryly.

Qui-Gon smiled and bent his head to Kenobi’s chest, repeating his own actions, licking one nipple first, then sucking, which made the boy whimper and clutch at his hair. Then a sharp nip that drew a deep gasp. Qui-Gon did it again, but twisted and pulled the other nipple a little at the same time, until Kenobi barked “Enough! Enough!” and Qui-Gon laved them both with his tongue, gentling the boy down. He was panting and trembling more now.

“Again,” he gasped. “Do it again.”

“Not so hard?”

“Harder.”

This time, Kenobi cried out, twisting on the bed, fingers scrabbling over Qui-Gon’s neck and shoulders, nails scraping a little. Qui-Gon nipped his way downward over Kenobi’s ribcage then sealed his mouth over the boy’s navel and pushed his tongue into the little cup. He bit at the crest of hip and then slid off the bed, onto the floor, spreading Kenobi’s legs and kneeling between them, running his palms up the soft insides. He bent his head to kiss and nip there, as well, first one leg, then the other, up to the coppery bush at the boy’s groin. Kenobi’s cock was standing up hard from that now, slowly arching over his belly, balls riding high.

Qui-Gon turned up a casual hand and the lube landed in it with a soft smack that made Kenobi jump and lift his head. “What—how—oh. Now I see why you wanted the collar off,” he grinned.

“Not entirely,” Qui-Gon replied, squeezing a good bit of lube into his palm. “Though it does come in handy occasionally,” he added, closing a slippery fist around Kenobi’s cock and stroking him into near orgasm and a state of inarticulation. “Pun intended.”

“Stop! Don’t—stop!” he panted, writhing.

“Which is it?” Qui-Gon asked, slick fingers feathering over his balls, teasing them down.

“Arh—both! Oh, gods. I need—”

Qui-Gon lifted the boy’s legs up over his shoulders and stroked more lube over his perineum and down, index finger circling his hole.

Kenobi froze, ass half-hoisted in the air, legs locked and trembling over Qui-Gon’s shoulders.

“Shhhh. Shhhh,” Qui-Gon murmured against the inside of his knee, stroking the other hand up the inside of his thigh while that one finger continued to rub gently. “We’ll do this when you’re ready. Just relax. I won’t hurt you.”

Gradually, Kenobi’s muscles unlocked and he let himself sink back into the mattress, legs still draped over Qui-Gon’s shoulders. “You’re sure you want this?” Qui-Gon asked him, still stroking his thigh. The skin was decadently soft there, like silk. It was mesmerizing to run his fingertips over it. He wanted to lick and bite it, mark that pale flesh with purple in the shape of his mouth.

“Yes. Do it.”

“Shhhh, relax,” he said again. “Don’t steel yourself for this. That only makes it painful.” Qui-Gon drizzled more lube over his fingers, over Kenobi’s skin, still rubbing across his anus. His other hand stroked Kenobi’s cock again, which had started to soften, bringing him back to that state of near orgasm. And between one gasp and another, he slid his finger inside.

Kenobi jerked and then pushed down, impaling himself more with a grunt. Qui-Gon curled his finger, searching until he found the hard little gland inside, then rubbed across it. Kenobi groaned, shuddered, and bucked. One of his hands closed around Qui-Gon’s grasp on his cock and squeezed and pulled harshly. Qui-Gon rubbed inside again and Kenobi shrieked and spattered their hands and his chest with a ropy jet.

After a long, shuddering ejaculation, he sank back onto the bed, moaning. “Oh gods, that’s, that’s just . . .” he panted.

Qui-Gon opened himself to the Force around them, sensing only surprise and wonder—and gratitude—from Kenobi. “That’s what it should feel like.”

He moved his finger slowly in and out, feeling the boy relax and the muscle loosen more. He drizzled more lube, now grateful for the amount Kenobi had gotten, and carefully pressed a second finger inside, before Kenobi even realized what he was doing.

“Is that all right?” he asked.

“Fine,” Kenobi said dreamily, limp as a rag. “That’s good. Don’t stop.”

Qui-Gon scissored his fingers inside the tight little hole, and massaged the rim gently with his thumb. “We don’t have to do this, you know,” he said quietly. “There are many other ways to give you pleasure without penetration.”

“No,” Kenobi said. “I want this, I want to know what it’s like when it doesn’t hurt.”

“It might still, with me, just because of my size.”

Kenobi lifted his head and glared between his legs, all sleepiness vanished. “Make sure it doesn’t,” he growled.

“Roll over, then,” he said, grasping the boy’s hips and turning him on the bed so he was bent over the edge. Moving the boy’s knees apart, he knelt between them and spread the pale, freckled cheeks, revealing the rosy little muscle.

“What—oh gods!” Kenobi came up off the bed in surprise and shock when Qui-Gon’s tongue flicked over him there. Then he collapsed bonelessly onto the bed, whimpering in pleasure. Soon his hips were moving in a jerky rhythm and when Qui-Gon’s tongue pressed inside, he shouted and rocked back into the intrusion. By the time Qui-Gon leaned back again to find the lube, Kenobi was more than ready for him. Three of his thick fingers, coated with lube, slipped easily inside. He turned them gently, feeling the muscle loosening around them, brushing Kenobi’s prostate now and then and leaving him trembling and whining in need.

“Now!” Kenobi demanded. “I’m ready!”

“Yes, I think you are,” Qui-Gon agreed, slicking his own cock and curling over him. He pressed inside slowly and carefully, holding Kenobi still when he would have pushed back in a rush. “Wait, wait, little one. Give yourself time to get used to it,” he urged a little breathlessly. Force, Kenobi was tight, though the going was certainly easier this time. Qui-Gon wanted to drive into that heat, bury himself in Obi-Wan’s sweet flesh. But the last thing he wanted was to hurt the boy again.

At last he was in to the balls, pressed firmly against Kenobi’s backside, both of them rocking in short jerks. “All right?” Qui-Gon murmured into Obi-Wan’s ear, reaching for his cock. His erection had flagged, which was no surprise, and Qui-Gon squeezed and pulled the way Obi-Wan had shown him before.

“Yes! It’s good, just—move!”

And Qui-Gon did, gladly, slipping his other arm around the boy’s waist. He started slow, but Kenobi was soon pushing back into him and in a moment they were fucking with abandon, Obi-Wan gasping and crying out with each thrust, Qui-Gon grunting in time to the hard slap of flesh on flesh. Obi-Wan’s back bowed beneath him, his cock thickening in Qui-Gon’s hand and he came again, shouting, the tightening ring around Qui-Gon’s cock pushing him over the edge too, into something incandescent. And if the boy was surprised when Qui-Gon cried out his name, the Jedi master was no less so.

He was careful to keep his weight off Obi-Wan, propping himself up on the side of bed as his partner collapsed beneath him, but he couldn’t stop himself from laying a trail of kisses across the lad’s shoulders. His skin was soft and salty against Qui-Gon’s lips, the taste intoxicating. When Qui-Gon’s cock slipped out, Obi-Wan shuddered and whimpered a little, in either relief or loss; it was hard to say which. In the Force he sensed only a stunned surprise from Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon grabbed the boy’s waist and heaved them both up onto the bed, startling Obi-Wan, then flung himself over on his back to catch his breath. After a moment, he reached for the damp cloth he’d brought with him from the fresher and nudged Obi-Wan over onto his back to wipe him down, then did the same for himself. The lad seemed fast asleep when Qui-Gon looked over again. What absurdly long eyelashes he had! Qui-Gon brushed the boy’s hair back from his face and his eyes fluttered open.

“Much better,” he mumbled, closing them again.

“I’m glad,” Qui-Gon replied in all sincerity, planting another kiss on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He’d enjoyed himself too, much more than in Palpatine’s chambers, where he’d been appalled by his own pleasure in plundering Kenobi’s body. “Here, let me pull the covers back.”

Barely conscious, Kenobi slithered under them and promptly fell asleep. Qui-Gon hesitated for a moment, then climbed in beside him. He wrapped himself around the boy, luxuriating in the warmth, the feel of soft skin against his own, and the scent of lovemaking on the sheets. A wave of tenderness for this lovely young man washed through him, leaving behind it a fine scrim of sorrow and loss on the sleep that followed.

 

He woke with Kenobi huddled against him as though he were a stormbreak, the boy pressed so tightly into the curve of his body that a leaf could scarcely slip between them. Qui-Gon’s arm was wrapped loosely around Kenobi’s waist, the other threaded beneath their shared pillow. The lad had shuddered himself awake once in the night with a small, heartwrenching cry, and Qui-Gon had soothed and shushed him back to sleep. Since then, he’d been as inert as stone.

Qui-Gon nuzzled against the lad’s hair, inhaling the clean scent of shampoo mingled with the tang of sweat and lovemaking. He felt strangely content and serene, considering. It had gone far better than he had hoped it would, though there was still a sense of reserve in Kenobi that Qui-Gon wasn’t used to in his lovers, or the few he really thought of in that way. And yet he and Kenobi were not that—which was perhaps the problem. He had worried about the boy suffering collaboration syndrome but his own feelings had been just as affected—perhaps moreso—by being under Kenobi’s oversight. At first he had only felt regret and pity, then he’d come to admire the boy’s determination and inner strength.  Now, absurdly, he found himself feeling a deep tenderness that he knew, given time, would become love. What greater punishment could be inflicted on him than to fall in love with someone who would never have any reason to return it? The irony was bitter.

“I’m so sorry, little one,” he whispered into Kenobi’s hair. “I’m sorry to have caused you such suffering. I’m sorry to have taken what was left of your innocence and to have wrecked what security you’d found for yourself. I hope you can find a new peace soon, and find it in yourself to forgive me one day.”

“Very nicely said, Master Jinn,” Kenobi murmured in a sleepy voice and stifled a yawn. “Was I meant to hear that?”

He expected the boy to move away, but he stayed pleasantly nestled in Qui-Gon’s arms, seeming not at all inclined to extricate himself. That suited Qui-Gon just fine.

“It wasn’t said hoping you wouldn’t hear it.”

“But.”

“But it’s not an Act of Penance.”

“What if I prefer this?”

“That’s up to you. You’ll only be asked if I’ve offered one.”

“Somehow that seemed more genuine,” Kenobi said after pondering it for a bit. “It’s easier to believe something spontaneous than some formula.”

Qui-Gon said nothing. There was no point in protesting his sincerity. Kenobi would believe what he wished. And what he believed about Qui-Gon was suddenly a mystery. He was still not sure why the boy hadn’t moved away.

“Why didn’t you go?” Kenobi said finally, turning the question round on the older man after they’d lain quietly together for some minutes. “I thought you’d leave, afterwards.”

“Would you have preferred that?”

There was a short silence before Kenobi answered. “No. I’m glad you stayed.”

“Why? I would have thought you’d want to be rid of me, when you’d got what you wanted.”

“I’m not sure what that was, now,” Kenobi muttered, moving out of Qui-Gon’s arms finally, much to his regret. Kenobi threw back the covers and sat up on the edge of the bed, his back to Qui-Gon. “And it would have felt too much like the last time.”

Qui-Gon suppressed a wince. “Was it? Like the last time?”

“No. You did your job,” Kenobi replied with a coolness that made Qui-Gon’s heart sink. Qui-Gon had hoped, at least, for a further warming of their relations, not this distancing.

_Your job._ The words stung him, as Kenobi had no doubt meant them to. Qui-Gon supposed he deserved that. Still, “I’d hoped it would be more than that for you.”

“It wasn’t about your hopes, was it?” Kenobi growled irritably. He seemed suddenly uneasy again in Qui-Gon’s presence, as he had in their first days together.

“No,” Qui-Gon replied with a note of melancholy in his voice, “but would you believe me if I said it was nothing like a job to make love to you, with you, the way it should be done?”

“Why? Why would you say that?” The lad looked over his shoulder and then turned around again, seeming more curious than disbelieving. “What do you think it could possibly get you?”

“Nothing,” _Nothing but your good opinion,_ he added silently. Qui-Gon drew a deep breath here, as though plunging into a fathomless pool. “But I’m not sure you know how attractive you are. You’re an intelligent, handsome, gifted, and good-hearted young man. It’s no wonder Palpatine picked you out of the crowd to savor. There’s a bright flame inside you any Force sensitive—anyone—would be drawn to. There’s so much potential in you—” Qui-Gon reached across the bed to brush his fingertips against Obi-Wan’s cheek.

Kenobi didn’t seem to know what to do with the compliment and ducked his head. “I never know when you’re telling me the truth or just what you want me to hear,” he said at last.

“No, how could you?” The bitterness in Qui-Gon’s voice surprised both of them. He threw back the covers, gathered the towels from the floor, and headed for the door.

“Jinn, wait,” Kenobi called after him. Qui-Gon stopped and turned, mouth set in a grim line.

“Just—I want you to know I’ll be asking the Council to release you, to give you the Merced.”

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon said with a bow. “That’s more than I deserve.”

“Maybe so. But I’m not sorry. And I’m not sorry I let you choose, to begin with. Or that we did this,” he gestured at the bed. “I think,” he said, looking straight into Qui-Gon’s eyes, “that you’ll punish yourself far more and far more effectively than I ever could. But you were right: it’s been an interesting experience.”

* * *

From one of the smaller and nearly deserted public observation galleries, Qui-Gon watched the Republic’s newly elected senators take their seats in the chamber for their first real day of work in almost two years. Finis Valorum stepped up onto the Chancellor’s hover platform once again, as well, to Qui-Gon’s relief.  The pomp and circumstance of the reconvening had been yesterday, and the crowds had thinned to almost nothing again, bored by the business of legislating. Now all but the hard-core political newsies were gone.

Eighteen tumultuous months of governance by the State of Emergency Committee had passed before the new elections were finally held, ousting a number of freshly indicted senators from several Core worlds and the Trade Federation and placing Valorum back in control—however tenuously—once again. The revelation of a Sith presence in their midst, and the plot Palpatine had been brewing, had shaken a formerly complacent group of bureaucrats into some semblance of alert action, or led to their sudden replacement. Qui-Gon hoped this would bring some badly needed stability to the government.

The investigation was still on-going, and Qui-Gon was in the thick of it again, but this was one of the key moments they’d been working toward, and he wanted to see the fruits of their labors. He’d met earlier that morning with Valorum to brief him on the progress of the investigation, which had now become largely a backtrack of the money trail and a hunt for Palpatine’s apprentice. The two men were, if not friends, then long and trusted acquaintances, and Qui-Gon was relieved to see Valorum back in power. As wobbly as this new government was, Valorum probably had the best chance of holding it together, and some of the new and returning senators—particularly young Organa and the new Bothan—had a good chance of actually improving things, he thought. With any luck, the crisis, now slowly passing, would reinvigorate the body as a whole, make them remember what their real jobs were, at least for a time.

“How long do you suppose it will be before the rot sets in again?” a voice just behind him asked quietly, eerily echoing his thoughts.

“Oh, the rot’s already there, Captain,” Qui-Gon assured him, somewhat cynically but not without a trace of optimism. “One can only hope there will be no Sith along for a while to speed it up. We still haven’t found the apprentice. How are you?” he asked, finally turning around and finding a pleasant surprise.

The captain’s bars he had already known about; Kenobi had risen phenomenally fast through the corps’ ranks. He’d thrown himself into the Temple’s pilot training like falling down a well, building quickly on his previous instruction and Qui-Gon’s tutoring. His natural abilities were further enhanced by diligent work and some extra tutoring by one of his classmates. Garen Muln, a former initiate who had chosen the corps over the Jedi, apparently had picked up the lessons where Qui-Gon had left off. Rumor had it the two had been more than just friends for a time.

The surprise was in Kenobi’s appearance. The lad had grown a beard and trimmed his hair. The beard was neat and might have been fussy on someone else, but it gave Kenobi a gravitas he hadn’t had before—until he smiled, which he did now. The smile filled Qui-Gon with something he had a hard time defining, something between joy and desire.

“It suits you,” Qui-Gon observed, leaning against the gallery railing and quelling the urge to stroke the soft-looking gingery mustache. He could not stop himself from wondering how different a kiss would feel this time.

“Thanks. Seems to come with the rank, or so Garen insists,” Kenobi replied in a wry tone. “You’ve grown your hair out again.”

“Benign neglect, as usual.”

“And the beard.”

“Now that’s more calculated.  I’ve been told it makes me more intimidating.”

“Yes, it does. And yet I like it.” Kenobi seemed puzzled by his own reaction.

“How are you?” Qui-Gon repeated. The words came out with a tenderness he couldn’t disguise.

“Surprisingly well,” Kenobi replied, raising an eyebrow at him. “But I suspect you know that.”

Qui-Gon merely smiled. “Congratulations on your promotion. You’re the youngest to make captain in quite some time.”

“Yes, yes. More remarkable because I didn’t come out of the Temple creche.” Kenobi waved the words away as though he’d heard it all too frequently before. “And now you’ll say what a pity that is since I would have made a fine Jedi.”

Again Qui-Gon smiled. “Are you happy with who you are now?”

This time Kenobi returned it. “Yes. For the first time that I can remember. I never thought I’d like flying so much.”

“And combat?”

The smile darkened into a troubled  grimace. “The drills—that’s one thing. But the combat? No.”

Qui-Gon nodded his agreement. “The katas and sparring, yes. But the application of that practice, no.”

“Even Palpatine’s death?”

“Perhaps the man he once was.”

“But not the Sith.”

“No,” Qui-Gon replied firmly. “For what he did to Ani alone . . . Choosing that path into the Dark only ever leads to death. There’s nothing there to regret.”

“So Garen said, too.” Kenobi gave a self-deprecating little laugh. “Rather absurdly, I was finding it hard to forgive myself first for being duped by him and then for turning on him.”

“And have you, now? Forgiven yourself?” _And for what? Youth and inexperience? Foolish lad,_ Qui-Gon thought. But he’d been young and foolish and guilt-ridden too. The latter still, for many things.

“Reconciled myself to it, perhaps. Hopefully learnt from it.” Kenobi turned a bright and curious eye on him. “And you?”

_Reading my mind again,_ Qui-Gon thought. “Reconciled, perhaps, as you say. It’s harder to let go of the shame, in my case,” he admitted.

The young man shook his head. “You did what you had to.”

The words surprised Qui-Gon. “Is that really how you see it now?” _And what changed?_

“I can’t sustain that anger I had at the beginning. It’s too exhausting and rather pointless. And I found I couldn’t keep hating you, either.”

“Why is that?” The conversation was growing more surprising by the moment. Qui-Gon wondered where it was leading.

Kenobi shrugged, a little awkwardly, less nonchalant than he was pretending to be. “What is it the Jedi say? Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate? One emotion cools, the rest fade with it. I know you’ve been keeping an eye on my progress, but I’ve looked up your record too, Master Jinn. As a result, I seem to have lost my fear of you. I suppose that’s because I’ve realized you’re not simply some rogue Jedi who overstepped his bounds and deserved punishment.”

“What am I, then, to you?” Qui-Gon asked curiously, though wondering if he really wanted to hear the answer.

“An individual. A person. An honorable person with an unpleasant job and a rotten choice to make.”

Kenobi’s reply left him speechless for a moment. The lad had come a long way in the time since they’d parted. It was more understanding than he deserved—or expected. And it was good to know the boy—young man, he corrected himself—had been able to let go of his anger.  “I’m sorry that choice had to involve you,” he managed finally.

“I think we’ve done that bit.” Kenobi smiled cheekily. “Let’s move on, shall we?”

“Very well,” Qui-Gon replied, rallying somewhat. “What shall we move on to?” Little gods, it almost sounded like he was flirting with the lad. What in the Force was he thinking?

“Perhaps a friendship?”

To say Qui-Gon was surprised would have been a gross understatement, though after years of practice in diplomacy, it barely showed. Inside, he felt his heart brim in a way it hadn’t in years, filled with a sudden, inexplicable hope. But Kenobi caught the hesitation and, not so schooled himself in hiding his emotions, looked away, clearly embarrassed.

“I’m sorry. That must sound rather pathetic,” Kenobi mumbled, suddenly seeming quite young again.

“No, please. Obi-Wan—” Tentatively, Qui-Gon touched his shoulder and, when the young man looked up again, squeezed it gently. “Not at all. It’s very generous of you, in fact. Just surprising. I, well, truthfully, I hadn’t hoped for that kind of forgiveness.”

“I hadn’t either,” Kenobi said quietly.

Qui-Gon blinked, twice surprised. “I think I owe you another apology,” he said after a moment’s pause. “I’m afraid I’ve underestimated you rather badly.”

“Or underestimated your own powers of persuasion.”

“If that’s the case, it’s a pleasant change. Usually I overestimate them and end up running for my life.”

Kenobi laughed aloud, the sound echoing gaily throughout the gallery, to the outrage of the few other occupants. He was firmly shushed, but didn’t seem at all sorry. Qui-Gon rolled his eyes, then took Kenobi’s elbow and steered him toward the exit. “Let’s continue this discussion elsewhere. Have you eaten? I’ve a friend who owns a diner—”

From a dark corner of the gallery, Master Yoda turned in his seat and watched in satisfaction as the two figures, Jedi master and newly minted captain, walked away together.


End file.
